


spiderling

by renlybardatheon (aheartcalledhome)



Series: time is just a symptom of love [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Character Death, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Kidnapping, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supporting Your Wife And Other Wholesome Things, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, Unplanned Pregnancy, not for cersei fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 16:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheartcalledhome/pseuds/renlybardatheon
Summary: for better or for worse, there are no men like jaime lannister. only him.





	spiderling

**Author's Note:**

> whew! this is where i originally saw the first part of the au ending, so imagine how far it's ballooned outward since then! the response to this series has been incredible and i'm so, so glad to hear about how many people are excited about this fic. special thanks to the twitter user who changed their display name to jaimeofoldstone because of part one, which was absolutely incredible to hear about!
> 
> loads of political games and letters in this one, so if that's not your thing, i'm really sorry. there's plenty of braime to fill the gaps, though! i got to introduce loads of canon characters we hadn't seen yet that'll play big roles in whatever future things i'll write for this au, which is exciting to think about! 
> 
> also exciting to think about: [here's the playlist for this fic!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6DiogwvgHMcjLaBj7N3cnT)
> 
> as far as i know, this is the last long oneshot for this au that i had planned. doesn't mean it's going to really be the last one, but i might stick to shorter oneshots as i try to write other braime aus instead of getting swallowed whole by this one 24/7! we'll see if i stick to the party line. 
> 
> to find out, click on the series title & hit that "subscribe" button -- that'll give you email updates when i post new parts of this fic series!
> 
> thanks so much for sticking around and enjoying this fic with me! i've loved reading your responses as much as i've loved writing this. hopefully part three is as well received as the others!
> 
> -s

The last time Jaime had been in the Sept of Baelor, before Cersei had blown it to pieces, the last of his children had been newly dead. But here he sat now, childless, unbothered and unburdened, Brienne by his side, watching his sister marry the future King of Westeros. The Sept of Baelor would always be marked by Cersei to him, by her presence and absence, by the throat-constricting ceremony of it all, and he would gladly leave the Gods to her were it not for the kindness the Stranger had shown him. Instead, he sat quiet and straight, sandwiched Tyrion between himself and his father, and watched his sister promise herself to another for the second time.

He had raged like a hurricane after she married Robert Baratheon, but found himself not caring one whit as she exchanged cloaks with Rhaegar Targaryen. He picked the dirt out from underneath his nails instead of paying attention until his father jabbed him in the thigh so hard he nearly yelped, turning his head toward the Septon to play at obedience. It was a testament to how much he’d changed that he made it through the ceremony without a hint of an outburst, and Cersei almost looked disappointed to see him sitting beside his lady wife like the well behaved little lordling his father wished him to be.

“The bells are ringing!” Tyrion whispered, tugging on Jaime’s wrist. His head was turned up toward the ceiling of the sept, as if he could see the great bells clanging through it. Someone had tried to coax his blond curls into something resembling a style, but of course Tyrion had made a mess of himself as soon as he could. He had never cared much for appearances.

The last time Jaime had heard the bells of King’s Landing ring, they’d been to surrender Cersei to her enemies, though they never quite made it that far. Jaime hadn’t been here when he heard the bells, but in the Red Keep. He’d never asked where Tyrion was, but he would never find out.

Here the Lannister brothers were again, handing Cersei to the Targaryens. It all felt awfully circular, like no matter what Jaime did, the bells would ring and Cersei would go somewhere he did not want to follow. Except this time, it would work. Except this time, Cersei was cloaked in red and black.

Except this time, she was one of them.

Rhaegar looked at ease beside her, his eyes smiling as much as his mouth, but for the first time in her life, Cersei looked unsure of herself.

“She looks worried.” Brienne, always the bleeding heart, whispered. “I do not know much of the Prince, but he will be gentle with her, won’t he?” She looked to Jaime, who nodded once, thinking of Lyanna Stark, stolen away in the night.

Rhaegar was certainly kind, but gentle was another thing altogether.

Maybe Cersei would be enough of a distraction.

Maybe Jon Snow would not be a Snow, in this world, but a highborn lordling himself. What would Jon Snow be, with a father that could publicly claim him? Certainly less meek, less self-effacing. Would he bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen in quite the same way?

Would he bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen at all?

“Cersei doesn’t do gentle.” Tyrion snorted. “She’s about to learn there are bigger games afoot than hers.” He squished a bug beneath his feet. “Oops.”

“She is your sister.” Brienne admonished, with the certainty of someone who had never doubted that they were loved. “This is her wedding day. She’s bound to be stressed.”

Lord Selwyn of Tarth had treasured his only living child, his knighted daughter, from the day she was born to the day she was married and beyond, and his letters every fortnight spoke of a deep loneliness that could only be fought back by his daughter’s presence in what had once been their home. Brienne had longed for her father with the same earnest ferocity, telling Jaime tales he could hardly believe of the various detractors (her Septa chief among them) that Lord Selwyn had taken to task over his daughter’s care, honor, and happiness.

He could hardly imagine such a man existing, let alone being his good-father.

“She is our sister.” Tyrion quipped. “And it’s why we’re saying she deserves it. She’s played at court life for so long that she’s earned a real try at it.”

“We didn’t say anything.” Jaime said and Tyrion rolled his eyes. “So let’s own up to our thoughts, please.”

“Of course, my lord father.” Tyrion bowed, deep and exaggerated. It drew the eyes of the few congregants that remained, the rest having filtered out of the Sept long ago, while Tyrion was still entranced by the music of the bells Jaime would always associate with death. “Right away.”

“Watch your mouth.” Jaime grumbled, though he was pleased that Tyrion had given in so easily. Clear by the smug, satisfied look of him. Tyrion knew Jaime’s heart too well to think otherwise. “We’ll be late. Shall we be going, Lady Brienne?”

“We’ll be late if we stay any longer.” Brienne agreed. “Poor Tyrion might be enticed into becoming a Septon.”

Jaime guffawed. A strange combination of a sneeze and a reproach exploded out of the High Septon, who had very obviously overheard them but wanted no part in chastising the new Princess’ brothers.

“Tyrion? A Septon?” Jaime couldn’t stop himself from laughing, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “Why?”

“I could do it.” Tyrion said, willful as always. “I’m good with letters, numbers, and convincing people that it’s their idea to do what I want. I’d make a wonderful Septon.”

“Hardly.” Brienne scoffed, and Tyrion feigned disbelief, throwing himself backwards into Jaime’s arms like he’d fainted, and it dragged a laugh out of her as well, so much so that the three of them, hidden away in their own little world, hardly noticed Tywin stalking toward them, his stern features in sharp relief thanks to the shadows thrown by the Sept.

“You’re late.” He groused, before turning on his heel and leaving the Sept, obviously expecting them to follow.

“Lovely.” Jaime sighed. “More people.”

“At least there’ll be food.” Tyrion pointed out, and Brienne nodded companionably.

“Food.” Jaime smiled slowly, as the three of them left the Sept behind, a peculiar lightness brimming in his heart. It hadn’t been as hard as he’d thought, coming back here. He didn’t feel quite so adrift anymore. “What a motivator.”

* * *

For a newly married woman (to a Prince, nonetheless), his sister seemed to have an awful lot of time on her hands, time she used solely to interrupt his quiet moments with Brienne. Wherever they were, they could count on Cersei, or a handmaid of hers, or Tyrion, or Tywin to find them. There were a number of secret places in King’s Landing that Jaime had sought out or discovered as a member of the Kingsguard, and he and Brienne snuck into every one in between the unexpected visits from their fellow Lannisters (and one Targaryen).

Brienne seemed unperturbed. Since Jaime had knighted her, there seemed to be very little capable of shaking her. She stood taller, smiled wider, and Jaime felt pride burn hot in his chest at the sight of her taking up all the space she deserved in the world. Her sword at her side, her smile bright, she looked every inch the Warrior. The second they returned to their chambers, she threw off the gowns she wore like cages upon her soul in favor of Jaime’s clothes, his breeches and shirts given new purpose by their closeness to her skin.

They were careful not to let Tywin see them playing at their games, toying with each other like fish on the end of a line, their hooks caught in each other’s mouths, drawing them closer and closer together. It was as if Cersei’s marriage had melted away distance between them that Jaime hadn’t known existed, the pulsing thump of Brienne’s heart in his chest alongside his own a lullaby he’d always yearned for.

Instead, they sought each other out in soft, subtle ways -- Jaime standing just a little too close to Brienne at all times, Brienne’s hand splayed out on his lower back, possessive and warm. King’s Landing held plenty of dangers, plenty of knives far too close to their throats, but Jaime and Brienne thrived as they did anywhere. Like cacti, they thrived without the water of others’ approval, happy to live the lives they desired in the confines of their chambers just as they had at Casterly Rock.

Their room had no window, but Jaime knew the sky of King’s Landing at night, had spent far too many evenings lying out in the grass as the sky darkened in increments, waiting for the stars to peek their heads out shyly before beginning their dance across the night sky. He saw it in his head now, the landscape of gently whirling lights unable to be contained by the darkness of the night. He had named the constellations here, half-remembered from another life, and Brienne, who had grown up knowing the southeastern sky as her own, had gladly let Jaime play at knowledge.

“This is the one place they can’t follow us.” Jaime said, his head pillowed on Brienne’s shoulder, as she carded her long fingers through his spun gold hair.

“They would if they wanted to.” Brienne scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust your father so easily.”

“With Cersei married off and Tyrion off to foster, there’s little else for him to bother with other than us, when he’s not busy curbing King Aerys’ worst impulses.” Jaime twisted his fingers in the laces of Brienne’s shirt (his shirt on Brienne’s skin, warmed by her blood), clumsily wrapping the string around his fingers. “He will want his heir for the Rock in short order. But you will have your adventures first, my lady wife.”

“How?” Brienne asked. Now that the whirlwind of Cersei’s wedding was past, she seemed to truly be considering their situation’s weight in a way she hadn’t since the knighting. “If your father will be watching us more closely…”

“Oh, he won’t come to the Rock. Not with Cersei with the Targaryens.” Jaime grinned, mischievous. “No, he’ll need to protect her. He’ll stay here so long as he’s Hand. So it’ll be no problem at all if the Lioness of Lannister falls ill for some time, and can take no visitors, and her armor goes missing at the same time. Her lord husband put it away in storage somewhere, of course, so as not to aggrieve her in her weakened state, Ser Brienne being quite attached to her knightly duties.”

“Quite attached.” Brienne smiled. “How does this story of yours go, Jaime?” She tugged at his hair gently and he laughed. “I should like to hear more of it.”

“Like the Knight of the Laughing Tree, you unseat Rhaegar Targaryen at the next tourney. Make him look like a green boy who’s just learned to ride a horse. You’ve trained with Ser Jaime Lannister. How could you lose to the crown prince?” She barked out a laugh at his overconfidence, her chest rumbling beneath him like an earthquake. “As you stand over him, victorious, you remove your helm, as you did at the Rock, when you wanted the man to know who had defeated him, and Rhaegar Targaryen recognizes his good-sister, Ser Brienne Lannister of Tarth. He deems her one of the finest knights in the realm and she returns home to her lonely husband and his giant rock with pride.”

“You dream such beautiful lives for me.” Brienne’s words ghosted across Jaime’s skin, trailing warmth all over his body. “Have you read my mind, Jaime?” Her lips slid, messy and wet, down the shell of his ear. “Have you seen my future?”

Such magic was only practiced across the Narrow Sea, by shadowbinders and warlocks, but Jaime knew the heart that beat in her chest, the same one that had fought for him when no one else would, that had believed so fiercely in the shreds of honor that remained in him. Seeing the future was nothing. He had seen the very truth of her soul and lived to tell the tale.

“Why see futures when I can see my present?” Jaime breathed the words out against her skin, eyes slipping closed for a moment. Her broad, callused hands burned like brands against his skin. “Why see anything when I can see you?” His green eyes slid open and there she was, like a reflection of the moon that hung in the sky in the clearest puddle of water. “Life without you would be a cruel fate.”

“You will never know it.” Brienne said softly. She placed her hand on his right shoulder, then the other on his left, and he thought of how the flat of his sword had done so to her shoulders so recently.

Already, it felt as if it was a cornerstone of their lives, a truth that had existed when time began.

* * *

While Varys was clad in the finest clothes money could buy and wrapped in brocade besides, he still resembled a sweaty egg far too much for Jaime to take him seriously. He stood before Jaime like a horse cart blocking a road, head held high, and beady eyes glittering with schemes yet to come.

“You called, Ser Lannister?” His voice washed over Jaime with a disconcerting ease, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. “Or is it Lord Lannister now? You have not been seen at tournaments, as of late.”

“My injuries are still healing.” Jaime said stiffly.

His hand was no better than usual today, but yesterday afternoon, he had struggled to so much as button his shirt, and so Brienne had kept him company in their chambers all day, distracting him from his pain and frustration with her stories of growing up on Tarth. It was better that Varys, and the rest of King’s Landing, think the Lion of Lannister might return. Having been raised by Tywin Lannister, Jaime knew the value of fear and what it could do for a man in need of power.

“And I hope that the Warrior keeps you brave as you recover.” Varys’ words were smoother than silk. “And that the Father’s just hand protects you from those that might seek to harm you.”

“I seek to discuss those who might harm you, Lord Varys.” Jaime said. “You have the ear of the King, do you not?”

Varys’ eyes narrowed. “As much as any other man might.”

Jaime knew that to be patently false. Varys had held an esteemed role on Aerys’ council and Robert’s after that, then Joffrey’s and Tommen’s as well. The man always knew how and where to position himself to gain as much as he could from every experience. He would listen, if Jaime spoke, especially if Jaime spoke true. If Jaime gave him some whispers to piece together his own conclusion.

“Hear this from a little bird, then: If the King should hire a man named Rossart, a pyromancer, there is no man left in him, only a monster.” Jaime said plainly, and smiled only as much as was proper when Varys looked shocked. Rossart might already be serving Aerys’ ends, might have already ingratiated himself with Varys, and if so, Jaime intended to change that. “He wishes to hide caches of wildfire around King’s Landing, in the tunnels beneath it. Under the Sept of Baelor, under Flea Bottom, under the Red Keep itself. And Rossart will see this done, if you do not stop him. Rossart will let Aerys burn them all in their beds.”

Varys’ eyes glittered. The words obviously meant something to him, as they did to Jaime, who’d heard them at every volume, in every tone of voice, always dripping with oily malice.

“I see.” He said evenly. “And how shall I stop him, little bird?”

“The same way you have stopped many men before, Lord Varys.” Jaime bowed deep and low. “By any means necessary.”

* * *

Every time Brienne and Lord Selwyn met, it was as if they had not seen each other in years, even if it had only been minutes. Brienne shamelessly burrowed into his arms whenever they had a quiet moment among family, and Jaime and Tyrion watched her in abject jealousy, unable and unwilling to ask for the same comfort themselves, having never received it from a father before.

“I must return home tonight.” He said, a letter folded neatly in his meaty palm. “I have left our dear island and its people neglected long enough.” He kissed the top of Brienne’s head, cupping her cheeks with his weathered hands. “My beautiful girl.” He said softly, each word glowing like molten iron ready for the forge. “It has been wonderful to see you so happy with your husband.” He looked to Jaime, smiling. “And a wonder upon wonders to see my good-son so at ease. It seems my daughter is not the only one who marriage has changed, Ser Jaime.”

“For the better, I hope.” Jaime said, his mouth dry.

“Only for the better.” Lord Selwyn laughed. “I dare not speak ill of the boy my daughter loves.” Brienne scowled, as if her love for Jaime was a secret. “It is a mistake I know not to make.”

“Am I to join you?” Tyrion said, just loudly enough to be overheard. He looked his age for once, eyes wide as dinner plates and lips pressed into a thin line, one of his hands hovering centimeters from Jaime’s, as if he intended to hold it but couldn’t quite figure out how. “When you leave for Tarth tonight?”

“If you are ready.” Lord Selwyn said, and Tyrion’s head bobbed about like a fish caught on a line as he tried to nod enthusiastically. He had been packed since the moment he’d come to King’s Landing -- if Jaime knew his brother at all, the items of clothing he was wearing were the only ones that weren’t folded neatly in the trunk he’d brought from Casterly Rock.

Jaime placed a hand on his shoulder and Tyrion steadied immediately, righting himself instinctively.

“If you would like to spend more time with your brother, I am not at all opposed.” Lord Selwyn said, his words sweet music to Jaime’s ears. But as soon as he heard his good-father speak, he knew he could not allow what he’d said to come to pass. Only Jaime knew what was to come, and Tyrion could not be in King’s Landing when it did. He would not allow his brother to face Aerys’ madness in his place. “Come to Tarth in your own time.”

“If you are leaving for your home, Brienne and I should leave for ours shortly as well.” Jaime said, his thumb tracing back and forth along the curve of Tyrion’s neck as it blended seamlessly into his shoulder. Tyrion felt boneless beneath him. He’d always been a sucker for a loving touch. “It would serve Tyrion well, to spend more time with a worthy role model.”

“The more time I spend around Jaime, the less of that I will have.” Tyrion piped up, though his voice was heavy with sorrow. “So I should leave with you, Lord Selwyn, for my own safety.”

Jaime had felt that sorrow himself when he’d left to squire for Lord Crakehall, Tyrion little more than a child left to Cersei’s mercy. He’d held Tyrion just long enough that he began to squirm before telling him he would be home as soon as he could. Now, he pulled his brother awkwardly into his side, Tyrion’s face mashed into Jaime’s torso, and patted his head a little more forcefully than necessary, with the heavy hand of a man driving a nail into wood.

Tyrion saw Jaime’s clumsy attempt at closeness for what it was -- the love that they had both been denied for so many years -- and smiled up at him, his boyish innocence returning in full force. After so many years, the runt of the litter was ready to leave the nest, shedding the safety of childhood for something bigger, something more dangerous.

“Are you packed, then?” Jaime’s voice was rough with bitten back tears. “Ready to leave?”

“Ready.” Tyrion said hoarsely. “I should go get my things.” He pulled away from Jaime, as if he himself was going to carry his things to the boat, and Lord Selwyn tutted, shaking his head.

“Nonsense. Stay with your brother. I will come find you when we must leave.” He ruffled Tyrion’s hair. “Will you miss my Brienne so? Or is that affection solely for your brother?”

Tyrion stared up at Brienne, his lower lip wobbling as he tried to force it into a smile again. He took several slow, unsteady steps toward her before rushing into her arms, caring nothing for propriety as she held him so tightly Jaime thought Tyrion’s head might pop off like a cannonball. He knew not what words passed between them, but Tyrion’s face was wet with tears when they parted, and he nodded slowly a few times, as if to compose himself.

“My brother has my affection only because Brienne has his.” Tyrion tried to seem brave, and Selwyn snickered, setting Tyrion at ease. “You will visit, won’t you?”

“As soon as we can.” Jaime promised. “Go, see about your things.” He placed a hand on the back of Tyrion’s neck, well aware that he might never see his brother again. “It will be good for you, to see something other than the Rock and King’s Landing. Enjoy it.”

“I will.” Tyrion said, sidling toward Jaime again for another half-baked embrace. “Write to me?”

“You write my letters, Tyrion.” Jaime joked. “How will I reply?”

“You have a wife for that now. You don’t need a little brother.” Tyrion’s words were tinged with sadness.

“I need both.” Jaime said, with such conviction that Tyrion seemed to almost believe him. “One to write my response and the other to respond to. I am a lucky man, to have both of you.”

“Do you need to say goodbye to your sister as well, Tyrion?” Lord Selwyn asked.

“No.” Tyrion shrugged. “We should be on our way. It is getting late.”

Jaime laughed, patting Tyrion on the back. “Go on, then. Write me when you reach Tarth.”

“I will write you and Brienne from the ship.” Tyrion promised, with all the vigor of a child on the cusp of adulthood, one foot on either side of the chasm. “Please do come visit.” Jaime could hear the thinly veiled plea beneath it -- “don’t forget me” -- and nodded solemnly. “I shall miss you both terribly.”

“Our hearts and home will be emptier without you, Tyrion.” Brienne said. Jaime hadn’t noticed her approach his side, but there was her hand on his shoulder, and her other hand smoothing down Tyrion’s mussed hair. “But Tarth will welcome you as it always has me. And my father will protect you from whatever cruelty makes its way to those shores just as fervently as he protected me.”

“You speak nothing but the truth, Ser Brienne.” Tyrion nodded sharply. “I trust you.”

“Shall we be off, then?” Lord Selwyn asked, and Tyrion turned on his heel, running to match the distance Lord Selwyn covered easily with his long, fluid strides. They were quite the mismatched pair, as they turned the corner, Tyrion ducking back around it like a child playing hide and seek to wave goodbye one last time before the sound of his footsteps petered away into nothingness.

Jaime sagged into Brienne’s arms, like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and she held him more gently than he had ever known possible.

“We will visit soon, when business at the Rock is settled.” She said, even though he could hear her longing for her home in her voice. They would go to Tarth together someday, when all the business with Aerys was settled. He owed that to her, after everything she had done for him, in his first life as well as the life he lived now. “And Tyrion will still be Tyrion when we reach there.”

“Perhaps a little taller for his troubles.” Jaime said, and she lightly slapped his cheek. “I should not like to stay long, without Tyrion here.” He swallowed hard. “With only my father and Cersei remaining…”

“Of course.” Brienne’s voice was heavy with understanding, and she pulled him through the doors of their chamber again so she could hold him in earnest, the sharp line of her jaw digging into his forehead. He had grown, then, since they’d left Casterly Rock. “We will handle preparations on the morrow. For now, you need to rest. You look tired.”

“It has never been me alone at the Rock before.” Jaime confided. “I always had Cersei or Tyrion. Since the day I was born.”

“Now you have me.” Brienne said simply. “So you will never be alone. At the Rock or otherwise.”

* * *

The wheelhouse bounced around on the Goldroad and Jaime smiled at Brienne during every jump and bump. She looked green around the gills, and he gently teased her about how she could have grown up on an island, spending more time on boats than off, if a bumpy road made her nauseous. Brienne had just rolled her eyes and said that anyone who had climbed up and down Casterly Rock’s cliff faces was not allowed to have an opinion on anything that mattered.

Out of boredom, he emptied all his pockets out onto the wooden floor, pausing when he found, sticking out of an inside pocket of his jacket, the edge of a piece of parchment he knew he hadn’t stashed away. He fished it out, staring at it in confusion for a second before he noticed that, when it was held up to the light, it seemed subtly patterned with spiders.

Lord Varys had somehow snuck into their quarters, or sent one of his little birds to do his dirty work. Ignoring how the wax clung to his fingernails, Jaime picked at the seal and prepared himself for the worst.

_Dear Spiderling,_

_I took a little walk in the tunnels below the Red Keep. You and I have more in common than I thought. I think we will be the best of friends._

No signature, though Jaime hadn’t expected one -- the spiders were proof enough of the sender’s identity.

“What’s that?” Brienne mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. Jaime looked up from the letter and saw her yawn, eyelids still heavy with sleep. “Did Tyrion leave something?”

“No.” Jaime said, and tucked the letter away quickly, stashing it in the same pocket he’d found it in. He could feel it against his side, the sharp edges of the parchment easily felt through the thin cloth of its cage. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Brienne seemed unconvinced but, too tired to mount an argument, leaned back in her seat again, her head tipping forward so her chin rested against her chest. Jaime could handle answering for a simple secret. There would be fewer ears to worry about in Casterly Rock, and he would handle everything from there, just as his father had.

* * *

They rode ahead of the party, having traded the relative comfort of the wheelhouse for horses borrowed from members of their retinue who were glad enough to take a well earned rest, and Jaime relished the change in the air, in the sky, and in the land itself as they entered the Westerlands. This was his home. The dirt was in his blood. The Westerlands were the only place he’d ever loved (save for the North, for a short time before he’d ruined it).

He took deep breaths, sucking in lungfuls of the air like it would clean him out from the inside, and Brienne smiled fondly at him. She had been the same way in King’s Landing, despite the hustle and bustle of the city -- simply knowing Tarth was so close had been enough for her to take her joy in being in the Stormlands again.

“You seem well.” She said, pleased. “You were overtired, yesterday.”

“So I was.” Jaime said nervously. He had felt off balance, after reading the letter, sneaking away every time they paused to rest, reading it over and over obsessively. “My nerves have settled now.”

“Why were there nerves to begin with?” She looked concerned rather than angry, which he’d worried terribly about. Would she hate him for keeping secrets? He’d left her for secrets once in Winterfell, was keeping the weight of whole lives and violent deaths to himself even now, but she seemed unperturbed by the knowledge that he was holding things close to his heart. “You received a letter from King’s Landing. What about?”

“From Lord Varys.” He said, as bravely as he could. “About the King.”

Brienne frowned, her silence an invitation to continue. He’d studied her silences well, picked apart the subtle differences between them until he could read her like an open book.

“What about the King?” Brienne asked, gripping the reins of her horse tighter than usual. “Lord Varys is…”

“The eunuch, yes.” Jaime said. “He sits on King Aerys’ council.”

“Why would you have business with the council?”

“The King.” Jaime shrugged. “I knew something I thought I should share.”

“And what was it?”

“Have you heard of wildfire, Ser Brienne?” Jaime’s tone was grave and he knew, by the clenching of her jaw, that Brienne took it at face value, as she always had. The sick green glow of the jars he’d discovered lifetimes ago painted itself around the inside of his skull now, coloring all his thoughts. “Once the dragons died, wildfire was the Targaryen weapon of choice. Once a jar of wildfire is set aflame, hardly anything can stop it. No amount of water can quench the flames. They stop for nothing. Whole cities could fall. Whole kingdoms.”

Brienne’s expression of shock set something bubbling in the pit of Jaime’s stomach, leaving him nauseous and nervous in equal parts.

“The King has hired an alchemist, Rossart, to make him more than he has any right to have. Far too much of it. He has plans to scatter the jars around King’s Landing, so he can punish his enemies.”

Brienne’s face was whiter than the full moon.

“Why would a man, a king, do such a thing?”

“There is no end to paranoia.” Jaime said. “King Aerys is a dangerous man, with no love for his wife or his children. He sees himself as having nothing to lose.” The sight of Aerys at his sister’s wedding, eager to welcome her into his family, had made his head spin. “His people do not come first, or second, or even third in his mind. He wants nothing less than absolute power. And wildfire is the easiest way to wipe out dissenters.”

He shivered, remembering how he’d feared Aerys but been required to stand in his presence, to defend him with his life. His only regret was that he hadn’t killed him earlier, in that life. Now, he could send someone else in his place. He had done enough. It was hard to see that, to think that, to even imagine that it might be true most days.

“And Cersei is there, now. One of them.” Brienne’s voice shook. Jaime wondered how she found it within herself to want the best even for those who had done nothing but hurt her, delighting in every minute sliver of sadness they spotted through the gaps in her armor. “Your very own sister.”

“I came into this world holding her ankle.” Jaime said softly. “I will not leave her to be hurt, no matter how she has hurt me.” He looked to Brienne, fondness burning like red hot coal in his heart. “You have taught me that. Cersei… Cersei has done little good for me, but I will not allow her to become Aerys’ pawn, as I so easily could have been. The Kingsguard was always about my father, not me, not my skill. Not that I have much of that anymore.” He shrugged. “That aside, I have learned much from you. About honor. About goodness.”

“Have you?” Brienne’s face flushed a violent, angry red. A Lannister red. “I thought the Lion of Lannister had naught to learn from anyone but himself. That the Septa had given up on him.”

“His ser wife has not.” Jaime winked. Brienne barely muffled a snort. “That makes all the difference.”

* * *

“There, you can see the Rock.” Jaime pointed ahead as their horses traveled the winding path up the rocky mountain.

As they rounded yet another turn in the spiral that led upward to their doorstep, he looked over his shoulder at Brienne to smile. For a second, his heart jumped in his chest, Tyrion’s voice ringing in his ears, before he remembered Tyrion was likely safe at Evenfall Hall. There would be a raven informing them of his safe arrival waiting at the rookery.

“I meant what I said when Tyrion left.” Brienne’s voice echoed around the mountain pass. “That our house would be emptier without him. But my father needs him more than we do. We have each other. Since I left home, there has been no one for him.” She sighed. “It was he and I alone for so many years, after Galladon passed. He has never quite shed that air of solitude for anyone other than me. Tyrion has come the closest in that time, as far as I have seen.”

“After your mother passed, he took no wife?” Jaime asked curiously.

Tywin Lannister had not either, too devoted to Joanna to consider another in his bed, but the difference between him and Lord Selwyn of Tarth was that Tywin had had two sons in line to inherit at the time of his wife’s death. Lord Selwyn had had only Brienne, or perhaps Galladon as well, if he had not passed yet.

Jaime struggled to keep numbers right as much as he did letters.

“He took no wife.” Brienne said, but Jaime could tell from the guarded expression on her face that his lack of a marriage hadn’t meant her father’s attention was not divided between her and other women. There was the fault that he had been searching for since he’d met the man, been sucked into the tornado of his well meaning, cheerful disposition. “There were plenty of women that shared his bed, that played at being a new mother to me when it suited them.” Her flared nostrils twitched. “They would tell me there would be sons in my place soon enough, male heirs to inherit the island, that my father would see sense and marry me off so no one would have to look at me again.”

Jaime’s heart sank into his boots, melting into a puddle of runny mush.

“I should like their names.” He said forcefully. “No one should have spoken to you that way. No one should have dared to say such disgusting things about you, such patently false, discourteous, unmannerly--”

“It is no less than most say about me.” She cut him off deftly, her voice strength embodied. “I learned early what people could choose to be, what I should be watchful for. My face does me no favors, Jaime. You don’t have to lie to me.”

She needed no sword when she had her ease with words at her disposal, and when he looked at her, shock written clear on his face, her features were calm as the Sunset Sea after a storm, her eyes fixed on Casterly Rock looming ahead of them. The sound of waves slapping against the outer walls of the mine beneath the castle were a guide for his racing heartbeat, chasing it lower and lower until the fog of anger had cleared from his head.

“I’m not lying.” Jaime said, trying to echo Brienne’s unshaking conviction. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The most beautiful knight, by far.” She looked to him, pure annoyance clear on her face, but something in his eyes must have convinced her that he spoke truly. “And perhaps so much time in King’s Landing, in my sister’s company, was not good for you. Court suits neither of us. We will stay well clear of it in the future.”

The delight that flashed in her eyes told him he had read her truly. The satisfaction bloomed within him like a rare flower, the unfurling petals brushing against the inside of his chest like the gentle caress of a lover.

“I shall settle for the second most beautiful knight.” Brienne staring ahead determinedly. Her words were stiff, but not from anger -- from an abundance of fondness she could not weave into them, that soaked them clean through in love. “As you are still a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms as well, husband.”

Jaime beamed. “So I am.”

“You are meant to compliment me back.” Brienne said, trying to sound obstinate, before breaking into a snorting giggle. “Not take it for yourself!”

“Why dispute the truth?” Jaime laughed. “I know well what I look like.”

He kept his wits about him. Beauty had always been a difficult topic with Brienne, and while he liked a good jape as much as any man, he did not seek to cause her harm. But she was laughing now, surprise and delight dancing in her blue eyes. He hoped against hope that it was true laughter, not something forced for his benefit. He knew the cost of not holding his tongue, had learned it well as they gallivanted around Westeros together, each prisoners of the other until they learned each other’s hearts.

“You do. Far too much.” Brienne rolled her eyes. “You could do with some humility.”

“Lannisters and humility are enemies.” Jaime chuckled. “How do you reconcile our words with humility? ‘Hear me roar’ does not indicate a willingness to listen to others, last I checked.”

“House Tarth’s words are ‘We Light The Way’.” Brienne said, and it made such sense why his ser wife was so determined, so strong, so suited for ruling and knighthood alike. ‘We light the way.’ How beautiful. How perfect, just as she was. “Our sigil bears the moon and the sun, day and night. We guide others along the right path. We are the first sign of danger from Essos, the first sign of trade, toward King’s Landing. We are the lighthouse.” Her words were well practiced, honeyed with years of reminiscing upon them in difficult times. “My father told me that the words came from the lighthouses scattered around the islands. Ships watch for us as much as our people.”

“Much better than ‘Hear Me Roar’ at any rate.” Jaime said. “Its only significance is that none of us know when to keep quiet.”

“That I’ve seen for myself.” Brienne quipped, and Jaime whined and simpered like a child until the ornate gates were close enough for sound to carry past them into the keep. He then sat as tall as he could upon his mount, the great, creaking doors swinging open to greet them.

This was the newest shape Casterly Rock had taken, Jaime the only of the Lannister siblings remaining within its walls, and with Brienne at his side, perhaps it wouldn’t be as terrifying as it seemed.

* * *

She found him at his writing desk, struggling over phrasing and spelling like a green boy copying letters from a book, hunched over several fanned out pieces of parchment, one of which simply bore the words “Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard”. The piece of parchment to its left bore several messy scribbles, some crossed out and others left to claim space gladly as Jaime struggled to marshal his words as easily as bannermen on the battlefield.

“Another letter, Jaime?”

She pulled a chair up to his side and he looked to her in silence, green eyes dark with frustration, before turning back to his maze of parchment.

“If you want my help, you will have it.” Brienne said, and he looked up at her again, his head spinning from how many words he’d called forth from its depths. He would never make a half-decent lord if he could hardly handle the simple task of a letter by himself, without leaning so heavily on his wife or his young brother that it was more their work than his. Still, he slid his chair back so she could get a better look. “Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. He knighted you.”

“He did.” Jaime nodded slowly. “I wonder, sometimes, if he didn’t make a mistake.” Something squelched in his chest, dripping uncomfortably warm and wet within him, making him feel as if he were drowning. “Someone has to know. About Aerys, about Rhaegar. About what he should be wary of.” He swallowed hard. “I turned down the Kingsguard appointment for myself. For you. But I wonder if I should have taken it, knowing what I know, to avoid placing so many undue burdens on others.”

“You have no duty beyond telling others what you know.” Her hand settled on the back of his neck, a warm, grounding weight, and he leaned back into her touch eagerly, drinking it in as if it might soothe the deep ache within him. “And you have done so before and will do so again. It is your honor that compels you, sweetling.” He blushed at the pet name, but Brienne took it as an implicit agreement, a signal to open the floodgates. “I would never have agreed to our marriage if I had thought you any less than the most honorable knight in Westeros.”

“The most honorable knight in Westeros wouldn’t be sneaking about like this, asking others to do his bidding for him. He would do what needs to be done himself.” He could almost feel the sword in his hand, dripping with Aerys’ blood, the steady press of the cold metal of the Iron Throne against his back. For fear of being consumed by the memory, he focused on Brienne’s hand, the lumpy calluses of it against the back of his neck, the damp warmth of it on his skin. “He wouldn’t hide like a coward. He would face danger head on.”

“Then don’t think of yourself as a footsoldier.” Brienne said simply. He frowned, looking at her in confusion. “You have cast yourself in the role of commander. Think of yourself that way then -- commanders do not always fight alongside their men. Sometimes they are merely strategists.”

“You think of me so highly.” Jaime said. “A commander?” Every time he’d aspired to such greatness, within the Kingsguard and outside it, it had ended in death -- his death, the death of his charges, the death of those he loved, sometimes all at once. “It is beyond me, I think.”

“It is a blessing that you do not think, then.” Brienne rolled her eyes. “What do you want Ser Arthur to know?” She took up the quill he had dropped minutes before, dipped it into the inkwell, and sat ready, eyes sparkling. “You are in charge, Jaime.”

Those words brought a sweet release of tension he hadn’t expected.

“Tell him he is welcome at Casterly Rock whenever he wishes to visit, and that he would be well received should he take a more circuitous path back to King’s Landing the next time he returns to Dorne.” Jaime said, watching Brienne’s handwriting spill across the page at a speed he could have never matched, each letter neatly and perfectly formed. “That I apologize for not accepting the Kingsguard appointment, but I had duties to my father and my now wife to fulfill, and that I admire his courage in taking the white. It is a difficult path to walk, but not mine.”

“Done. What else?”

“That I noticed an infestation of spiders in the keep while I was there, and he should seek it out. The King may be fond of his spiders, but he does not always receive their stories in the way they should be. Sometimes they require a more discerning ear.”

“Sign it here.” Brienne said, passing the quill to Jaime, and he scribbled something resembling a signature down, then dropped the quill, splattering ink across the bottom left corner of the page, as his hand seized up. “Jaime?”

“Just-- just write my name under it. So he knows it’s me.” Jaime hissed through clenched teeth as he rubbed at the stiff, bunched up muscles of his palm as if enough pressure would make them loosen. Brienne watched him with fearful eyes as she did so, printing out “Ser Jaime Lannister” in her bubbly hand. “Good. Good. I’ll see it to the rookery myself. When the ink has dried.”

Brienne nodded slowly, setting the letter aside, and took his aching hand in hers, wincing as the joint of his thumb spasmed within her grasp.

“I am no commander.” He said softly. “It is you who are guiding me. Should you not be commander, then?”

“I should not.” Brienne said, standing firm. “There is no shame in needing help.”

“There is shame in needing the most routine of tasks done for me.”

“There is no shame in knowing your limits.” She said, in a tone that brooked no argument, and Jaime fell silent. She ran a hand through his hair and smiled at him, a gentle, soft thing for him alone. “You need a bath.”

“Romantic.” He drawled. “Would you be joining me, ser wife?”

“You’re an idiot.” She declared. “Go away.”

“Gladly.” He rose from his chair, his right hand slipping out of hers, and he held it close to his chest, like he was guarding his weakness from the world around him. “Thank you. For your help.”

“I hope that I can make you see yourself like I see you. Like you make me see myself.” Brienne said, her eyes searching. She rose up to meet him, placing a hand on each of his elbows to hold him steady.

“You are not my mirror.” He said, remembering Cersei’s words growing over him like vines, wrapping around his neck until he had nothing but the memory of air left. “We are not the same. We are not-- we should never be.”

“We are our own selves.” Brienne frowned. “We are simply the best of ourselves when together.” She seemed to recognize Cersei’s invasion of the room, because she leaned forward, pausing just before their lips met, resting her forehead against his. “You are your own man, Jaime. I am my own woman. But we are here together, of our own volition. We both chose this. Every day we choose to stay.”

“We do.” Jaime said, remembering how she’d begged him to stay at Winterfell. “Every single day.”

Here he was, still with her, this Brienne never having had an occasion to doubt his commitment to her. This was the kind of world he had begged the Stranger for. What use was being scared? He had already died before. It was not as if there was anything to fear here that he hadn’t already lived through before.

* * *

He hummed the melody of Jenny of Oldstones under his breath as he readied himself for the day, unsteady, shaking fingers tripping and stumbling over the fastenings of his jacket. His determination carried him through the task, the notes of the song easily giving him a rhythm to try and school his movements into matching. He hardly noticed Brienne behind him, her face rosy from practicing in the yard and her short hair sweaty.

The flaxen locks hung wildly around her head, waves sticking out in a thousand different directions, and Jaime had never wanted to kiss his wife more. The thrill of battle still sung in her veins, so strongly that he could feel it echoed within himself, and he smiled at her like a fool, knowing no words that could encompass the depth of his love for her.

“Is that your favorite song, then?” She asked. “Jenny of Oldstones?”

“Yes.” Jaime nodded. Jenny had danced with her ghosts until they’d all faded away, along with the love they’d held for her. Jaime wouldn’t make that mistake -- his ghosts would never be ghosts to begin with. “There’s a lot to learn from the old songs.”

“There is.” Brienne said, regarding him with a keen eye, and that was the last talking they did that afternoon.

* * *

_Dear Sers Jaime and Brienne Lannister,_

_Tarth is a brilliant island and Lord Selwyn cares for me well. The maesters here know more of my condition than they did on Casterly Rock, as Ser Brienne had said, and I am sick and tired of their experiments but glad to know more about myself than I did. I wonder if Father put the ones at Casterly Rock up to ignoring my health, seeing as all the Maesters were trained at the same school. It would not surprise me._

_Enough talk of Father. How are you both? How is the old keep? Are Aunt Genna and the cousins keeping you busy? Have you gone exploring in the caves? There are plenty of caves here. Lord Selwyn has shown me the ones Brienne used to play in, and I have begun collecting childhood things of hers that I have found in the sand. If she would like them, I can arrange for them to be sent with the next shipment of supplies to Casterly Rock._

_Have you held any audiences? Lord Selwyn does things very differently in Tarth. The smallfolk are told they can ask anything of him at any hour, and he often entertains complaints late into the night from those who work at all hours during the day. I imagine such a system would be welcomed in the West by the laborers and farmers who must take days off to attend our audiences. Evenfall Hall, being on level ground, is much more easily accessed than Casterly Rock -- perhaps there could be an audience arranged in Lannisport?_

_You are reading this to hear of my well being, not to listen to me teach you how to do your work. (Which should be Father’s work, but I digress.) I miss you both dearly. I feel I understand more of my good-sister now, seeing the places she grew up. I feel as if I am inserting myself into her story. It would be better if you were both here, but the Rock is a busy place. If you are called to King’s Landing in the future, do tell me -- I would love to see you again._

_The raven would likely refuse to fly should I make this letter any longer. I hope this finds you both in good health and happier than before. Please reply promptly._

_Love,_  
_ Tyrion Lannister_

* * *

“It is so quiet here.” Brienne whispered into the shell of Jaime’s ear. She was curled around him, like a shield against his back, her knees fitting perfectly into the hollows behind Jaime’s. “Without Tyrion to interrupt us.”

“Perhaps we should spend our time doing things he can no longer interrupt.” Jaime said, and then promptly fell asleep.

* * *

_Dearest Tyrion,_

_We are glad to hear that you are enjoying your time on Tarth. You were sent to foster there for many reasons, all of which you seem to have discovered on your own. It is a comfort to hear that Lord Selwyn is keeping you in good company and health, and it seems you are learning more of diplomacy from observing the workings of Evenfall Hall. You will be a formidable force in King’s Landing someday with this knowledge._

_We are arranging such a session in Lannisport to take place in a few moons’ time. As you said, given that we are Wardens of the West, it should be upon us to make ourselves easily accessible to our subjects. Brienne has mentioned how things have been done on Tarth quite often, and Jaime feels it is far past time that things changed around Casterly Rock. As we are writing this letter together, we saw fit to clarify who had which thoughts, specifically because Brienne thinks she is better than Jaime and isn’t realizing how to treat other people for the very first time, like some kind of child._

_We miss you very much. Jaime heard someone singing Fallen Leaves in the market at Lannisport and nearly cried over it. Brienne spent nearly a full day in the library because she was waiting to show you something and forgot that you no longer lived at the Rock. We cannot wait to see you next. Perhaps a trip to Tarth will be in order sooner than later._

_Love,_  
_ Jaime and Brienne_

* * *

“Two ravens from King’s Landing!” A little serving boy, hardly older than ten and two, yelled over the din of clashing swords, and Jaime dropped his to his side, the tip of Brienne’s sword finding the pulsing vein at his throat immediately.

“Unfair, ser wife.” Jaime said.

“Yield.” Brienne said firmly.

“Do you have no interest in the raven, Ser Brienne?”

“Yield first.” Brienne said, pressing the wooden sworder harder against the thin skin of his neck, and Jaime winked at her, drunk on the confrontation.

“I yield, my lady.” Jaime said, his words charged with a particular electricity, and the serving boy cleared his throat again, holding both scrolls out red faced. “Oh, don’t look so embarrassed. You’ll take a wife someday too.” The boy ran off, too afraid to make even cursory eye contact with Jaime, and Jaime guffawed before unrolling the first. “Hm.”

“‘Hm’ what?” Brienne asked, dropping her sword to crowd in on Jaime, far more curious than she’d let on. “A tourney. At Harrenhal. To be officially announced, in a fortnight’s time, by the King, who-- who will be in attendance.” Her eyes lit up. “And Ser Arthur and Lady Ashara will travel with us from Casterly Rock. How lovely.” She snatched the second scroll from his hand with all the grace of a pickpocket, dividing the duty of reading between them. And it was for the best that she did -- even the mention of Harrenhal, of what it had meant to him in his first life, had him shaking in his boots.

Jaime thought of taking the white, of Lyanna Stark, and his mouth went dry. That was what Harrenhal had always meant to him, even if revealing the truth of himself to Brienne, stripping the skin of lies away from the bones of truth, had been more formative. A crown of flowers on the wrong woman’s head had set a whole war in motion, all because of a prophecy Rhaegar had decided was his. There had been no news of children from King’s Landing in the months since Jaime and Brienne had left. Not even a whisper of a babe on the way.

Did he still think the three headed dragon to be his?

“Lovely indeed.” He stammered.

“The tourney isn’t being spoken of as celebrating anything in particular, but…” Brienne’s expression was pale and drawn. “Your sister sends news from King’s Landing.” She held the scroll out to him, looking rather conflicted.

“You seem shaken, Brienne.” Jaime frowned. “Is it bad? Is Cersei alright?”

“She is with child.” Brienne said, and Jaime unrolled the scroll to read the news in his sister’s own hand for confirmation. “Rhaegar’s child. The tourney at Harrenhal will likely be the official announcement that a Targaryen heir is to be born. If the maesters’ estimates are correct.”

“A child. My sister’s child.” Jaime repeated, feeling as if he’d been hollowed out with a spoon. Cersei had hurt him deeply, but he still worried for her, alone in a family of bloodthirsty dragons, now carrying one of them within her. “I never thought she would let him near her.”

That settled it then. A child meant that Rhaegar still sought the dragons as much as he had in Jaime’s first life, a madness that had eventually killed him.

There would be as many children as Rhaegar could manage to put in Cersei before the Trident, all bearing the Targaryen name, to contend with. Perhaps the Trident wouldn’t happen If Jaime could get Rhaegar on the throne in Aerys’ place. Ser Arthur’s willingness would shift the tide toward justice, if he were so lucky as to gain it.

“Evidently she did.” Brienne said quietly. There was real fear in her eyes, though Jaime didn’t think it was for Cersei, who she made no secret of disliking. “I only…” She wiped her grimy hands on her breeches. “Our mothers both died in childbirth. I wonder if she is afraid. She has-- she has your father, in King’s Landing, in the way of family, but I wonder if she worries.”

“Do you worry?” Jaime asked softly. “Do you have reason to worry?”

“I do and I don’t.” Brienne said. “There is-- there is no child. Yet. But someday, you will want one.” She swallowed hard. “And I-- I worry what it might be like, if you were left to raise a babe by yourself here. If you could.”

He nodded slowly, taking her hand in his and squeezing it tight. “We do not need to worry about such things.” He said, determined. “So we won’t. We will worry about children when we believe it is time for such things, or when that time comes to us. It is Cersei’s worry for now, and we will carry it for her as much as a brother and good-sister would. Not more.” He felt lighter, having set a boundary for himself, a clear line not to cross. He had acted like a second husband for a whole lifetime -- he wanted no part of that now. “It is even more vital that we be at Harrenhal now.”

His nephew or niece, in Cersei’s belly, safe from their grandfather only for a few short months longer. From the moment King Aerys’s first grandchild drew breath outside their mother’s body, they would be under attack. From the moment King Aerys’ first grandchild left Cersei’s body, she would know no peace.

Jaime had watched how Rhaegar had turned his marriage with Elia into a single-minded obsession with fathering the three headed dragon, forgetting her entirely when she grew too sick to carry children for him in favor of Lyanna Stark. Would his eye not wander, then, if Cersei was his wife instead?

Or was Lyanna Stark even more of a danger now?

* * *

Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne Lannister,

Thank you for inquiring after my well-being. I am feeling much better than I was a few sennights previous. The maesters say it is normal. Father is watching over me carefully enough for three men, and my husband and good-father are equally attentive. Rhaegar is kind and the King is eager to meet this child, who he believes to be a son.

Should it be a son, Rhaegar intends to name him Aegon, but I have been pushing for Daeron, after the Young Dragon. He does not want to borrow trouble by naming his son for a man who ascended to the throne at fourteen, but the Aegons do not seem much better off as a group. Should the child be a daughter, he wants to name her Rhaenys, after the dragon rider. I rather like the name.

I intend to travel to Harrenhal, should I be well enough, and hope to have the pleasure of seeing both of you there. Perhaps my child will have a cousin close in age. We Lannisters do suffer greatly without playmates.

Warm regards,  
Cersei Targaryen  
Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

* * *

“Lady Brienne, honestly.” Jaime groused. “She couldn’t even find it within herself to be courteous. You’re a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, the same as I am.”

“She’s carrying a child, Jaime.” Brienne said, unbothered. “She’s going to be the worst version of herself. She’s stressed, unwell, and carrying all the expectations of her husband’s family. Any woman would be rude.”

“Will you be the worst version of yourself?” Jaime asked. “I do not believe such a thing exists.”

“Maybe we’ll find out.” Brienne shrugged. “She’s treating motherhood like a competition. Did you see that? ‘Perhaps my child will have a cousin’.” She spoke the last words in a high pitched shriek that did, actually, sound quite like his sister. “As if she’s the only woman who’s ever carried a child before. As if she invented bearing children.”

“You’ve got all the parts for it.” Jaime pointed out, feeling rather astute, but Brienne’s stormy gaze had him backpedaling so quickly he worried he might trip over his own words. “She’s always been like this. She wants to be first and best at everything. She walked first, talked first, rode first. I chose knighthood because she wasn’t interested in swordsmanship. I could be first in something, best for lack of competition from her.” He shrugged. “It stands that that same attitude would extend to my wife.”

“Not a single mention of Tyrion in the letter either.” Brienne spat. “‘I would like to see you both at Harrenhal’ like she hadn’t even considered he might like to come as well.”

“Do you think your father will make the trip?” Jaime asked.

“I doubt it.” Brienne said. “Harrenhal is quite far north for my father -- he rarely visits King’s Landing to begin with. He’s happy remaining on Tarth, and I doubt he will let Tyrion travel alone.”

“It will just be us and Cersei then. What a joy.” Jaime scowled. “And Cersei’s child, I suppose. And Father. A recipe for disaster.”

“Too many Lannisters stirring the pot in one place.”

“You know what they call a group of lions, correct? A pride.” Jaime snickered. “Would that we only had one pride between us.”

“Would that you had none.” Brienne swore, and Jaime laughed. “You Lannisters are all entirely too self-important for your own good.”

“Says you, Lady Lannister.” Jaime said. “Seems to me that by passing judgment on the rest of us, you’re the most self-important of us all.”

“Leave me alone.” Brienne complained and Jaime cackled. “Don’t do that!”

“Don’t say anything you don’t want returned tenfold!” He said, in between peals of laughter, and she looked fond as she feigned exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air. “We’re a prideful bunch, my love. You must expect retaliation.”

“Who said I wasn’t expecting retaliation?” Brienne said, head held high, trying vainly to adjust course. “Who said the retaliation wasn’t the trap?”

“Then you are smarter, braver, and stronger than I, which we already knew.” Jaime shrugged. “You’ve nothing to prove, Brienne. Not to me, not to my family, nor anyone else.” He welcomed her into his arms. “You are perfect the way you are. I expect nothing from you that you won’t give. Your needs come first before any expectations my father or Cersei or anyone else may have of us.”

“Even if they mean no cousins for Cersei’s child just yet?”

“Oh, especially.” Jaime laughed. “I’m in no fit state to hold a child. I would like my hand to heal a little more, or to grow used to what it is, should it not.”

Brienne sighed in relief, leaning into Jaime, and he supported her weight easily.

“You are a good man, Jaime Lannister.”

He preened.

“I take it back.”

* * *

The official invitation for the tourney at Harrenhal came a fortnight later, as Ser Arthur had promised, and Jaime made preparations for travel with ease, following a list the castellan had laid out for him when he’d asked. He’d commissioned a sword for Brienne, one she would be proud to bear, the image of Oathkeeper a bright blaze of glory in his heart. Ice remained unbroken, in Ned Stark’s hand, and the sword being forged in Casterly Rock’s armory was no Valyrian steel blade, but he hoped Brienne would treasure it nonetheless, because it came from him.

It was strange to think of the boy he’d been when he’d first received this invitation, ready to take the white and be a knight of the Kingsguard, and to compare him to the married man he was now, happy with his wife and his life, not wanting for anything save for his brother’s presence. He had still been obsessed with Cersei, hoping to do anything at all that would keep him in her presence, but here their paths had diverged so far.

There would be no finding their way back to that terrible, poisoned place in which he’d been so easily convinced that all they had in the world was each other. Now Cersei and her husband were expecting a child, and Jaime’s loyalty lay with his impending niece or nephew rather than his sister. He knew what Targaryens were capable of, with impressionable children in their care, and wanted none of it to befall his sister’s child.

His nephew. His niece.

He’d never thought of Cersei’s children (of Joffrey, of Myrcella, of Tommen) that way before, because they had been his. And now they weren’t. Some separate entity that he could truly only lay an uncle’s claim to. He’d never thought he’d feel this comfortable with the idea, but for a long time now, when he’d seen his children in his mind’s eye, they were gangly and straw-haired, with big, round eyes set awkwardly in their round faces.

And now Cersei’s children would be dragons rather than lions playing at being stags.

There was a lot at stake in making a world that would guard his sister’s children as fiercely as he might. There was a lot of change to come, and it all, strangely enough, rested on his good-brother’s shoulders.

One thing was for certain: at Harrenhal, he would have to speak to Rhaegar Targaryen.

* * *

Ser Arthur Dayne was just as Jaime remembered him, strong beyond the limits of Jaime’s imagination.

His short dark hair blended into a short beard, dark eyes peeking out from beneath heavy eyebrows. He’d often wondered, during his first life, in the years after Arthur’s death and his dismissal from the Kingsguard, whether he had been infatuated with the man himself, desperate for his approval, or if he’d simply wanted to leave just as bright a legacy behind. And here stood Arthur, bright-eyed and alive before him, not bearing any of the marks of the death Jaime knew to be nipping at his heels, and Jaime’s heart was full.

“Ser Arthur!” He said eagerly. “Thank you for joining us.” He fidgeted awkwardly, trying to still the hands at his sides from reaching toward his hair, which he’d messed with far too much already. “Lady Ashara, your presence is greatly appreciated as well.”

Lady Ashara seemed amused by Jaime playing the host, her delicate features betraying great mirth bubbling beneath the surface of her impassive expression. Like her brother, she knew how to keep secrets, and Jaime remembered that Eddard Stark would fall for her soon, though it wouldn’t last.

Nothing would last, if he didn’t make the changes he needed.

She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear and batted her eyelashes in the self-assured way Jaime once had -- the way of those who knew they looked good and cared nothing for what it did to others. Jaime smiled awkwardly, doing nothing to press the bounds of politeness, and, finally, Ashara laughed. Perhaps something he’d done was funny.

“My wife will be here shortly.” Jaime said, looking at Arthur rather than his sister. “I don’t know what’s kept her.”

“Your wife. I heard a rumor about a knighting, little Lannister.” Arthur’s eyes gleamed. “I hadn’t thought you had the stones for something like that.”

“I have those and then some.” Jaime said proudly. “My Brienne is the best knight the Seven Kingdoms has seen. She bests even me with a sword. If I was once fit for the Kingsguard, she is twice as qualified.”

“Jaime Lannister. Everyone’s favorite cocksure rascal, speaking of his wife so highly.” Arthur seemed genuinely impressed. “She must be quite a skilled warrior if you boast about her so. I would like to see her fight, before we leave.”

“He boasts about me far too much.” Jaime turned around immediately at the sound of Brienne’s voice, a relieved grin taking over his face, and she strode forward purposefully, greeting both Arthur and Ashara with nothing short of perfect politeness. “Excuse my lord husband. He thinks he is speaking to my skill rather than writing love songs.”

Arthur hooted with laughter. “You’ve found yourself quite the woman, Lannister.”

“She found me.” Jaime said, pleased. “I did no work at all.”

“No man would join the Kingsguard, should a wife like yours be an option.” Arthur smiled at Brienne, who blushed. “Thank you for the hospitality you’ve shown us, Ser Brienne.” If any more blood was left in her body, it rushed to Brienne’s face at the Sword of the Morning addressing her as everyone should -- as a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. “I would have come sooner if I’d understood what an incredible woman had enthralled our young Lannister.”

“Incredible is too high praise.” Brienne blustered and Jaime interrupted her, as he always did.

“She doesn’t speak highly enough of herself.”

Ashara’s laughing eyes followed their banter back and forth between them.

“And he speaks too highly of me.”

“Yes, well, both as one provide a rather accurate image of you, don’t they, ser wife?”

“Ser wife.” Arthur said, as if it hadn’t occurred to him before. “I suppose that’s what you would call a lady knight you had married.”

“Be careful, Lord Jaime.” Ashara said. “You’re giving my brother ideas.”

“I’m a knight of the Kingsguard, Ashara.” Arthur said, with the calm geniality of a man who’s been asked the same question enough times to have a prepared response ready. “I will take no wife. But if I could, a fellow knight would be preferable to all else. It must be wonderful to be married to someone who understands the demands of knighthood.”

“I am a lucky man.” Jaime said earnestly. Every ounce of Ser Arthur’s approval coursed through his veins like fire. “I could not join the Kingsguard, with such a brave, honorable knight waiting for me. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, Lord Jaime.” Arthur smiled at Brienne again. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice.”

* * *

“Before you fight Ser Arthur, I want to give you something. Something special, just for you.” Jaime whispered into Brienne’s ears, standing on the tips of his toes just so his lips could brush the outer shell of her ear after. He was draped over her back, desperate for all the contact he could drink in. “Something I had made for you.”

“Jaime.” Brienne said, all the fight having bled out of her long ago. “You don’t need to earn my love. You have it.”

“I think you’ll want this.” He pulled his hands away from her eyes and she gasped at the sight of the sword, safely in its belt, hanging from a peg on the wall. The pommel was decorated with rubies and sapphires, the reds and blues matching the intertwined Lannister and Tarth crests on her armor.

“It’s beautiful, Jaime.” Brienne whispered. She drew the blade, turning it this way and that so the metal caught the light, whispering to herself under her breath. “It’s-- It’s lovely, I can’t--”

“I named it, if that’s all right.” Jaime said.

“What’s its name?”

“Oathkeeper.” Jaime smiled. It was perfect for her, just as Oathkeeper had been. Thankfully, too engrossed in testing the weight of the sword in her hand, she didn’t question the name. “Now go destroy the man who knighted me with it.”

* * *

The clashing of swords was like music to Jaime’s ears, Arthur and Brienne whirling about each other with similar looks of concentration in their eyes.

The man who had shown him what a knight truly could be fighting opposite the woman who had changed his life by seeking her own knighthood. The man who had taught him honor fighting against the woman who had taught him he could find it again. It felt almost like a dream, interrupted occasionally by particularly riveting snatches of Ashara’s neverending commentary.

Neither had proven unbeatable, but both refused to give an inch. Jaime had already noted several points where either Arthur or Brienne hesitated to land a blow that would end the fight just to let it run a little longer. He loved them both for their tenacity, their unwillingness to take an easy victory when there was a harder one yet to come.

But, as Brienne’s husband, he had a clear favorite among them.

“Go for the neck, Brienne!” Jaime yelled, much to Ashara’s dismay. “Get him!”

“Ease off, he’s my brother.” Ashara hissed. “They’re sparring, not trying to kill each other.”

“Who says?” Jaime shrugged. “You? I don’t see you fighting.”

“I will if I’m challenged.” Ashara’s eyes sparked like flint.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” Jaime grinned. “I like my body parts where they are, even if I won’t say the same for your brother.” He jumped up and down like a child. “Go, Brienne! Win!”

* * *

“Ser Arthur? Walk with me.” Jaime ran up to the knight, doing his best to look unbothered and unruffled, but the way the wind had mussed his hair left him with the look of a child playing at seriousness.

Arthur’s gentle smile showed that Jaime’s attempts at lordliness were pointless. They’d survived the Kingswood Brotherhood together. They had no need for artifice. He lead Ser Arthur to the edge of Casterly Rock, behind the Keep, where they could sit on the edge of the rocky promontory with their legs hanging off, looking down on the Sunset Sea crashing against the rocks.

“What is it, Ser Jaime?”

“I have had worrying news from the capital.” Jaime said, trying his best to look worried. “From my sister.”

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyebrows drawing together.

“She says… she says the King is uncommonly…” He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing tight, to try and hold himself steady -- he had felt as if he was shaking. “Uncommonly violent. With his wife and Viserys. That he’s done nothing to her, but that she worries about it.”

“Aerys is a man possessed by flights of fancy.” Arthur’s face was dark and desolate. “Not all of them are good. Not many are. But I am sworn to serve him first and his people second.” He watched the sea growl at the rocky shore, as aggressive as the lions that lived above it. “Your sister is with child, is she not?”

“She is.” Jaime said. “And I worry for the child, if the grandfather is willing to be so careless with his own wife and child. The baby is half Lannister after all. I have a duty to my sister’s child.” He sighed.

“I wish there were a way to serve the King and the realm at once.” Arthur said, barely audible. “That those two causes did not feel so at odds.”

“What is right may not always be what is honorable.” Jaime said and Arthur fixed him with a searching look. “It may be hard. It may take something from you that you cannot replace. But it is well worth any ill that may come of it.” He nodded slowly. “Watch over my sister, if you can. She needs-- she needs someone in King’s Landing that’s not my father. Someone who will keep her safe.”

“She has her husband.” Arthur reminded him.

“So she does.” Jaime said, well aware that Arthur and Rhaegar were the best of friends.

Ser Arthur Dayne would hear nothing against Rhaegar, and if Jaime said anything beyond the bounds of a good-brother bristling at his sister’s husband, it would be treated as treason. Such was Arthur’s honor. Arthur would bend, but not break, as Jaime had that fateful day, when he decided to sit upon the Iron Throne, his sword still wet with the King’s blood. His legs had been so tired and he’d thought “oh, only for a second”, and that second had damned him forever, in that first life. Ned Stark had seen what he had wanted to see and so had everyone else.

“For me, for Prince Rhaegar. For someone who means so much to both of us both. Please, Arthur. I can’t bear to think of my sister in danger.”

“You sound like a man who has given far too much already. You’re but a green boy, newly married.” Arthur threw his arm around Jaime’s shoulders. “Lighten up, Lannister. You’ve a whole life of fighting and fucking ahead.”

“So I do.” Jaime nodded. “It is hard not to worry, what with both of my siblings in the East now. Cersei in King’s Landing and Tyrion beyond even that.” He shook his head. “It is strange, to be without the people you share so much of yourself with.”

“That is my hope in bringing Ashara to Harrenhal, that she might find a suitable man and convince him to stay in King’s Landing. A second son perhaps.” Arthur confided. “I want to know she is safe, the same way you need Cersei watched over. The right thing, as you said. Marrying off my sister will not be easy for either of us, but it is the right thing. In times such as these, you don’t know who is loyal to the King and who is loyal to the Prince.”

So this was Arthur’s test of his loyalties.

“I am loyal to the Realm.” Jaime said, and Arthur broke out into a sunshine bright smile. Everyone knew that meant Rhaegar’s ascension to the throne in place of his father. Rhaegar, who cared for the desires of the smallfolk, who sought to make the realm more equitable, easier to live in for those of lesser means. “Aerys is going to make a mistake. One that could kill millions. And I won’t let him. That’s why I didn’t join the Kingsguard. I don’t want to protect a man who sees no worth in his people.”

“What?”

“The Spider will tell you what to look for in King’s Landing. Once you see it, you will never unsee it.” Jaime shuddered. “You can’t.” He balled his hands into fists. “When you see it, write me. We’ll discuss what needs to be done first.”

“The father’s loyal to the father and the son’s loyal to the son.” Arthur said, in the dreamy way one would discuss a hypothetical situation so ridiculous that there was no way it could become real. “What a curious bunch you Lannisters are.”

“I am loyal to no one but the people.” Jaime said. “My ser wife taught me that.”

* * *

Harrenhal rose in front of them like a warning, the Gods Eye lake a blue-green mystery spreading out in front of it. Aegon’s Conquest had shattered the holdings of House Whent hundreds of years ago, and whether they’d kept the keep as Aegon had left it as a design choice or for lack of resources to fix it, Harrenhal had always struck Jaime as a uniquely ominous place. Brienne had changed it, in his eyes, in his first life, after Aerys Targaryen had left his mark on Jaime’s life through Harrenhal’s forbidding aura made manifest in his heart.

Now Harrenhal was not about him -- it was about Cersei, her child heavy within her, who had made the trip to Harrenhal, likely the last she would be allowed before the child’s birth. Cersei, who loved Rhaegar, or at least thought she did.

The few letters he had gotten from Cersei had stressed how happy she was with Rhaegar without it seeming false and facetious. He would like to think he knew his twin well enough, despite denying her the pleasure of bending over backwards for her every request, to tell if she was lying. But Cersei seemed replesendent with joy in King’s Landing, writing eagerly of court and sitting beside Rhaegar as they learned the ins and outs of ruling from Aerys and Rhaella.

Rhaegar was kind and Cersei was ruthless, and together, they might rule well. Rhaegar’s boundless kindness, the bleeding heart that compelled him to give even the clothes off his own back to a passing beggar, would be tempered by Cersei’s aggressive heart, her searching eyes, her need to always have more. But Cersei would not be allowed to run unchecked, as she had as Queen Regent for her sons -- Rhaegar was a statesman born and raised, and he would curb his wife’s worst impulses easily.

Perhaps this child would be the best of them both -- the intractable Lannister pride and the insatiable Targaryen appetite for power balancing each other perfectly. Perhaps this child would be a king or queen the Seven Kingdoms could be proud of. He smiled to himself, imagining a child with Rhaegar’s piercing violet eyes and Lannister spun gold hair, with Tyrion’s round cheeks and smile.

Brienne tied her horse to the stake beside his, when they set up camp beside the other great houses, and they stared out upon the shore of the lake, its waters shimmering under the sun like a sea of gems constrained only by the grassy earth hemming it in.

“This is a beautiful place.” Brienne said softly. “So many colors.”

The Riverlands must have reminded her of home, their greenery and waterways much softer than the craggy mountains of the Westerlands. She looked upon the castle with the bright eyes of one seeing it for the first time, and Jaime had to pinch his arm to remind himself that she was. Brienne would have had no reason to come as far north as Harrenhal before -- she remembered nothing of the bear pit, of that disgusting gown she’d been forced to wear, of their conversation in the baths. But Jaime held that all within him, a flickering candle in the cavern of his chest, warming him up from the inside.

He would still jump into any bear pit for her happily.

“A beautiful place indeed.” His eyes alighted upon the gray tent of House Stark, a flag bearing a black direwolf proudly flapping in the wind, and he remembered what was to come as if it were a dream, the crown upon Lyanna’s head, the way Robert Baratheon had fumed.

He could change the world here at Harrenhal just as he had in his last life. He could make room for the truth. The Brienne he had once known and loved would not tell him to walk away from an honorable cause, and neither would the Brienne he’d married. He had plenty of guidance, plenty of love, plenty of conviction to go around.

He had to find the Spider.

* * *

Jaime left his laughing wife in the stands, slipping away in a quiet moment beneath the wooden scaffolding that held their seats to find Varys standing with his back against the wall behind the seats that Jaime knew to hold House Stark. Jaime motioned for Varys to follow him and they trekked out into the rolling hills of House Whent’s land, careful not to stray so far as to be suspicious.

Jaime sat down heavily on the crest of a hill that was hardly more than a hump of dirt covered liberally with grass, stretching out his legs in front of him. He rotated his ankles, wincing at the popping and crackling noises that left his joints as they obediently rolled in circles.

“It’s nice to see you face to face.”

“Likewise, Lord Lannister.” Varys seemed disgusted by the idea of sitting on any floor, let alone dirt. “Your words rang true. King Aerys has indeed hired a pyromancer, named Rossart. There are no caches of wildfire that I know of beneath the city, but I and my little birds will be watching. If it is as you say, they will be found sooner than later.”

“Among the Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne will hear your concerns truly.” Jaime said. “He and I have spoken at length about our feelings regarding loyalty.”

“A member of the Kingsguard.” Varys looked intrigued. “And how did you sway him, Spiderling?”

“I told him there was often a difference between what is right and what is honorable.” Jaime said quietly, his eyes sweeping over the blades of grass dancing in the wind. Spiderling, Varys had called him. Like he knew what he was doing, like his feeble attempts at marshalling those he knew toward a brighter future was in any way, shape or form comparable to what Varys did. “And that it was his duty as a knight to make the right choice for the smallfolk, no matter which King or house his loyalty is sworn to. And he agreed.”

“Interesting that you would name the knight that knighted you in your confidence before your own father.”

“I do not speak to my father so freely.” Jaime smiled ruefully. “The Hand does not see fit to tell me what he knows, so I do the same.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting up straighter. “Does the Prince trust you?”

“Yes.” Varys raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Remind him of his wife, then. That tomorrow’s crown is for her and not another.” Jaime heaved himself up to his feet, ignoring Varys’ shocked expression. “The difference between what is right and what is honorable, again. The Prince would do right to remember it, though in his case, it does not quite apply, as both choices are the same.”

“Are you insinuating the Prince has eyes for someone other than the Princess?” Varys smiled, a dark, predatory thing.

“Only that our prince is known for giving too much of himself when it is not at all required of him.” Jaime smiled pleasantly. “He does love to play the gallant knight when he sees trouble. Look at Jon Connington.”

“Maybe so.” Varys allowed, with a slight incline of his bald head. Jaime could hear the cogs spinning within it as one of Varys’ plans took shape. “Thank you, Lord Lannister.”

“I liked Spiderling better.” Jaime said, as he turned to leave. If he was fated to have a terrible nickname each time he lived, he much preferred this to Kingslayer. “Call me Spiderling instead.”

* * *

Rhaegar expertly slid a crown of winter roses from the tip of his lance into what remained of Cersei’s lap, a soft, gentle smile spreading across his face as Cersei beamed at him. To the rest of the world, they looked like a young couple deeply in love, captivated by each other. To Jaime, who knew what might have happened (what did, in another world), they looked relieved. Or perhaps he was relieved and projecting it onto them.

Lyanna Stark’s face was unreadable, just as her brother Ned’s, as she watched the events unfold, and she made no effort to catch Rhaegar’s eye as he rode off again, his victory cemented by its dedication to his wife.

“You’d crown me, wouldn’t you?” Jaime leaned over, whispering the words for only Brienne to hear, and she blushed an angry red, toying with the sleeves of her gown. He yearned to rush her back into their tent, where she could feel comfortable again. “What flowers would you choose?”

“Camellias.” Brienne said, as if she hardly had to think. “They’ve got big heads like you.”

“Red, of course.” Jaime said, unperturbed.

“Of course.” Brienne said. “Any other color would be silly.”

She punched him lightly in the shoulder and he groaned softly, enough to draw looks of surprise to them. Now it was his turn to look embarrassed, eyes downturned and cheeks flushing, and when he’d finally collected himself enough to glance up at Brienne, she was struggling to keep from laughing.

Cersei looked to them, but not with judgment in her eyes -- she actually looked happy, worrying the stems of the flowers woven into the crown between lithe fingers. It surprised Jaime -- he didn’t know when he’d seen her happy last, in his first life or this one. Maybe Rhaegar was good for her. But when his good-brother returned to take a seat by his wife, he also looked to Jaime and Brienne.

And unlike Cersei, Rhaegar was not happy.

* * *

“Jaime.” Rhaegar said cordially, as the door to the tent closed behind Jaime, waving to a seat across an empty table from him. “Sit, please. It’s wonderful to see you, good-brother.”

“It’s wonderful to see you as well.” Jaime said, knowing the image of propriety wouldn’t last long. “I hope you and my sister are well.” He took his seat, trying to keep his smile fixed on his face. “And that my niece or nephew is not troubling you already.”

“Not at all.” Rhaegar smiled. “The child has not given her trouble in months, and Cersei keeps herself busy happily enough. She is never satisfied without some project in hand.”

“That sounds like my sister.” Jaime laughed. “What did you want to see me for?”

“The Spider told me there were… whispers. About the fact that I might be planning to crown Lady Stark.” Rhaegar bristled uncomfortably at her name, in the way of men who know they are guilty. Jaime’s heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. So the affair had already begun. “And when pressed for who I might speak to about them, he told me to ask you.” He looked more worried than angry, as he had in the stands. Perhaps he hadn’t been angry then, Jaime’s own fear clouding the way he read Rhaegar’s face. “Did anyone tell you that? I should like to correct it. I-- I love only my wife. I have no need for other women.”

“I cast no doubts upon your fidelity, good-brother.” Jaime said. “If I doubted you, this would not be a conversation. My sword would not be with my wife.” He cracked a grin and Rhaegar let out a deep breath, his eyes back to twinkling again. “I only ask why I might be hearing such things, given that my sister is your wife. There are some things that are not for a good-brother’s ears, but… she is not just my sister, she is my twin.” He felt sick saying the words again, but he needed to play it up for Rhaegar’s benefit. “We played at being each other, when we were young. At living each other’s lives. And if… if anything is making you doubt her, or worry about her, I--”

“Nothing could shake my faith in Cersei.” Rhaegar said quietly, sounding rather timid. “And the impending birth of our child has only served to make our union stronger.” He smiled nervously, sweeping his white-blond hair out of his violet eyes. “My interest in Lady Stark is solely… out of worry. She is promised to the eldest Baratheon brother, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, but Jon has much to say of his reputation, and none of it is good.” He cast a glance toward the mouth of the tent. “Arthur says he is gentler than Stannis, but has none of Renly’s wit. That he thirsts for war and women and the glory both bring. I worry he has eyes on the Throne.”

Jaime nodded. Even this early, Robert was making a reputation as a man who indulged in excess, though his indulgences were nothing compared to what they had been, by the time Jaime had come north as Lord Commander of his Kingsguard to Winterfell. He had often wondered whether it had been Lyanna’s death that had twisted that knife.

Now he would see for himself.

“Robert Baratheon is still unmarried and all the wilder for it.” Jaime said. “With a good, strong wife like Lady Stark, he will be kept well in hand. Some of us need a little more direction to find our way into manhood.” He rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck. “Lady Lyanna is of the North. She considers herself made of stronger stock than us. All Northmen do. Honoring that is the strongest show of solidarity you could give her, for I don’t doubt she worries about Robert’s faults as much as you, being promised to him.”

“Your wife has greatly improved you.” Rhaegar blurted out, his cheeks coloring. “I meant no offense, good-brother, I simply--”

“Oh, she has.” Jaime nodded eagerly. “When I fought the Kingswood Brotherhood, I was arrogant. I was cocksure. I was nothing but a boy with dreams too heavy to carry alone. Ser Brienne has taught me that moderation is a virtue I would do well to indulge in all parts of life.” He chuckled. “And you have improved my sister just as greatly, so I have much to thank you for.”

“She has done just as much for me.” Rhaegar looked down at his lap, as demure as a lady. “She has much to say about matters of state. About how I should rule, when the time comes. But I vastly prefer her being outspoken to her hiding her thoughts from me.”

“Cersei is like a child that way.” Jaime snorted. “When she is silent, mischief is afoot, and she doesn’t do mischief halfway.”

Rhaegar laughed, throwing his head back. He wiped his watering eyes, glee still exploding bright fireworks inside them. “So she does.” He nodded. “Some days I wonder if she might not be trying to take the Throne from beneath my father.”

“I wish I could tell you.” Jaime said, bemused. So Rhaegar did see Cersei for who she was -- impossibly, he just didn’t seem to mind. “I don’t know myself.”

“If even her twin does not know her mind, I feel better about not knowing it myself.” Rhaegar’s winsome smile was hard to resist.

“Why worry about dangers that aren’t yours when you have your wife to be concerned with?” Jaime said, and something in Rhaegar’s eyes flashed dark and stormy for a moment before the brightness that defined returned.

“Quite right.” Rhaegar nodded slowly. “Quite right.”

* * *

The ride south from Harrenhal was quiet and uneventful, Jaime and Brienne finding a companionable silence at each other’s sides.

There was little to say, after the first few days, when every detail of the tourney had been spoken at of at least twice, if not more, and Jaime sunk headfirst into the calm waters within himself. If the horse hadn’t been lead by the sight of others in front of it, Jaime could’ve easily gotten lost in the Riverlands, never to be seen again. At night, they slept beside each other in the grass, or in smelly rooms in shady inns, or tucked away in a wheelhouse, and Jaime dreamed of a future that had never seemed so achievable, so easy.

He dreamed of a daughter he could name for his mother, who would be brave like Brienne and have her skill with the sword. Joanna would be bright eyed and smile readily, like her Uncle Tyrion, and perhaps she would carry little pieces of the cousins (half-siblings) she would never know, who had lived and died in a world she would never see. Maybe she would have Myrcella’s cheerfulness, Tommen’s kind heart. Maybe Jaime would be lucky enough to be loved, openly and wholly, by his daughter in this life, instead of stealing a few tortured moments before she died in his arms.

He’d never spared a thought for what a son of his might be like. There were too many memories of Joffrey wrapped up in that to be comfortable, even if Tommen, sweet and kind and angelic, had been Jaime’s as well. He wondered if Joffrey had been Robert’s after all, some dark nights, when he lay awake with Brienne curled into his side, looking impossibly small. Even with Brienne’s good heart and her determination, any son of his was a roll of the dice -- madness or sweetness, both driven to ruin and death.

“The Lady still isn’t with child.” A Lannister cousin whispered, as Jaime passed him in the hall. He pretended he hadn’t heard it. “Or at least we can’t see it, if she is.”

“Poor Jaime.” Another cousin replied. “Having to bed that. No wonder there’s no children.”

“There’s no children because we don’t want any at the moment.” Jaime said loudly. “Not because she’s unattractive.”

“Why wouldn’t you want any?” The first cousin to speak asked, bold as he was stupid. “The Rock needs an heir, you know. If anything should happen to you or Tyrion… we couldn’t let it leave the family, could we?”

“You’re all vultures.” Jaime sighed. “An heir will come. Believe me, the Rock will never be yours. What is your name anyhow?”

That scared the pair off and they scuttled away into the shadows, muttering to each other under their breath, and Jaime turned his back on them, shoulders hunched and head hung low. He thought of the daughter he’d dreamed up in the Riverlands, riding from Harrenhal with his wife by his side, something he’d dreamed of since before his first death.

He didn’t want any child that wasn’t her, all Brienne and Tyrion and none of him. But life was never so kind. There would be no children, for as long as he and Brienne could help it, until she was ready.

He worried that he never would be.

* * *

“Tyrion sends his love.” Brienne said as Jaime shut the door to the baths behind him. What remained of her freshly shorn hair was wet, little blond clippings still clinging to her broad shoulders and the back of her neck. “He says he and my father are taking good care of Tarth’s smallfolk and that my father has taught him how to throw hammers.”

Jaime couldn’t help but laugh. “Tyrion? Throwing hammers?”

“Apparently he’s quite good at it too.” Brienne’s eyebrows shot up, as if she herself was surprised by what Tyrion had written. “He says my father is trying to instill, and I quote, ‘all manner of bad habits’ in him before sending him back to Casterly Rock.”

“My father would love knowing his son’s fostering was being spent on games.” Jaime’s eyes sparkled as he undressed, kicking his clothes off and into a corner. He’d retrieve them later. “Imagine, the great Tywin Lannister humbled by a lesser lord of the Stormlands. He’d melt.”

When he slipped into Brienne’s bath, she didn’t complain at all, smiling softly at him as he curled himself around her like an octopus. She stroked the back of his neck fondly as he grinned up at her, content to laze about so long as her affection was a constant, and it was, for she didn’t seem to mind his intrusion into her space at all.

“We should tell Father to watch out. Our Tyrion might be trying to throw a hammer to King’s Landing.” Jaime chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Tarth isn’t so close to King’s Landing that he could manage it.” Brienne pointed out. “Though Tyrion would brave the travel to inconvenience your father in any way he could.” She splashed water into Jaime’s face, laughing as he spluttered. “Have you had any news?”

“From Cersei?” Brienne nodded, even as Jaime scowled. His sister had begun writing him so often that he wondered whether there were any ravens left for official business in King’s Landing. “She fares well, as expected, and is eager to see the child born and out of her. She asked nothing of Tyrion, though I spent much of the letter talking about him. She refuses to use your title properly.” Jaime sighed. “Par for the course, for the Lannisters.”

“All of you are ridiculous.” Brienne flicked Jaime’s forehead and he howled. “There are larger problems in the world than your egos.”

“It hardly seems like it, some days.” Jaime whined, though even the thought of King’s Landing had his stomach churning. “There has been word from the Spider, as well.”

“Has there?” Brienne asked, eyes widening.

“He has hired the pyromancer Rossart.” Jaime said, fighting vainly to keep his voice even. “A knight of the Kingsguard found a fresh batch of wildfire stored below the Red Keep.” Brienne’s hand slid down to the small of his back, steadying him. “I have no way of speaking to Ser Arthur to warn him of what is to come, but the Spider says it will be years before Rossart loses the courage to speak back to the King or make enough to truly cause danger. The jars are well sealed and placed in an alcove that will not be disturbed accidentally.”

“So when they are disturbed, it will be on purpose.” Brienne read between Jaime’s lines expertly. “And your father? As Hand, he should know what is afoot in his own city.”

“I doubt he doesn’t.” Jaime said. “You know him. He likely doesn’t care.”

“How could he not care?”

“Do you think there was ever room in his heart for anything other than my mother? My father is the Rock, in more ways than one. Even when he isn’t here, the keep belongs to him. The keep is him.” Jaime scoffed. “He cares nothing for the smallfolk who will die for his inattention. He will care even less now because they are the smallfolk of King’s Landing and not Casterly Rock or even Lannisport. As long as he, Cersei, and the child are safe, he cares nothing for anyone else in that damned city.”

Brienne seemed to have clung on to a few of his words, though not the ones he’d intended, looking Jaime over like she was seeing him for the first time.

“If something happens in King’s Landing and the Lannisters are not seen to be on the right side…” Brienne whispered, as if she was realizing it for the first time. “Tyrion is on Tarth. Alone. My father is the Evenstar and Tyrion is his ward, but that will only go so far.”

“Why do you think my father said yes to sending him to Tarth when he kept me so close as Crakehall?” Jaime asked. “Not out of fondness for his son’s good-father.” He kicked up a sad spurt of water, which spilled over the edge of the bath. “Not out of fondness for his younger son, nor his older one. It was the easiest way to get rid of Tyrion. And when we have a child, he will do the same to me so he can ensure the child will be raised with his thoughts in their head. With his values.”

“You worry for the safety of Cersei’s child, with him and King Aerys baying for their blood and their mind. With Tywin Lannister and Aerys Targaryen warring for control, we will see no good King or Queen after Rhaegar.” Brienne swallowed hard. “Is that-- is that why you’ve been distant? With all the talk of children?”

“You cannot worry about something that’s bound to happen. Both will try for the child’s affection in the name of molding it in their image, and one will win and never let the other forget it. The issue is that neither is a good option.” Jaime smiled sadly. “Lannister blood is a curse.”

“Any child of ours will have Lannister blood.” Brienne said.

“And they’ll be all the worse for it.”

* * *

_Dear Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne Lannister,_

_Earlier this morning, Cersei was delivered of a healthy baby boy, who will be called Aegon Targaryen. He has the Targaryen eyes, though he is the spit of Jaime otherwise. Prince Rhaegar and Cersei are both in good spirits, as is their son, and they are all in good health._

_Your presence is not required in King’s Landing, but your sister may appreciate an increase in correspondence as she adjusts to being a mother. A similar letter is being sent to Tyrion to announce the child’s birth. Do not encourage him to come visit, though I doubt he will want to anyhow._

_Regards,_  
_ Tywin Lannister_  
_ Hand to King Aerys II Targaryen_  
_ Lord of Casterly Rock_  
_ Lord Paramount of the Westerlands_  
_ Warden of the West_

* * *

“We have a nephew.” Brienne stared thoughtfully at her plate, as if the food would launch itself down her throat and into her stomach at her command. “It’s an odd thought.”

“Why?” Jaime asked. His mouth felt like the sands of Dorne had sucked up all the moisture in his body. “Because you did not expect one?”

He picked at the remains of his own food, the mounting soreness in his hand distracting. He had overused it today, writing a letter to Cersei before dinner after a morning of signing documents, and he would pay for it.

“I know you-- well, your siblings are--” Brienne stumbled over her words, looking as if she’d rather be discussing anything else.

He scratched his head, then shrugged. He would rather pay for silence than verbally dig himself a pit.

Historically, he and Brienne had not done well with pits.

“I thought I would be older. Smarter.” She admitted. “Before there were children in our lives that would look up to us.” She frowned, forehead creasing in a way that reminded him of her father. “I’m Aegon’s aunt. Aunt to the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. If someone had told me two years before that this would be my life, I would have laughed in their face.”

“Aegon cannot do much looking from King’s Landing.” Jaime pointed out. “You will not have to worry about him until the boy can write enough to send ravens. Cersei won’t allow him within a league of us.” He laughed, though something sinister bubbled in the pit of his stomach, leaving him feeling unsteady. He was glad he was seated -- he was quite sure sure that his knees would’ve given out, had he been standing. “Shall we steal away the heir to the throne by convincing him to become a hedge knight?”

He felt nauseous. Not only was Cersei’s son the heir to the Throne, he was Aerys’ grandson. He was Tywin’s grandson. He’d said the words aloud to Brienne in the baths days before, but now that the child was born, it felt so much more pressing. A son that was Cersei’s only because Jaime had meddled with the fabric of space and time.

Would Cersei die for Aerys’ grandson as their mother had died for Tyrion?

Would her blood be payment for bringing a child that had never existed before into the world?

Would her blood be his punishment?

For years, she had hurt him and hated him in so many painful ways, in his first life, his second, and in the days before the divergence he’d caused in this one. Did she deserve death? Did she deserve the Targaryens? All questions it was too late to ask, all questions which were Jaime’s fault in the first place.

He could feel sweat beading at his hairline, but wiped it away under the guise of cleaning his face.

“Gladly.” Brienne laughed. “Treason sounds delightful.”

* * *

_Dear Cersei,_

_We are glad to hear that you, Prince Rhaegar, and little Aegon are well._

_Brienne and I are sending some gifts for our nephew to King’s Landing, along with the latest overland shipment of goods to the Crown, though they may be as much as a fortnight in coming. Hopefully the clothes we had made will still fit him. The servants are full of gossip about how you and I grew like weeds as infants and told me Aegon would likely be the same. I had the sizing adjusted accordingly._

_Mother has been on my mind more often than not these days, and if the same is true for you, I would feel some comfort in that. She would be glad that we have grown into our own lives so quickly. Or at least I hope so. I am looking for some things of hers to send you, but Father has hidden them all, and quite well. Brienne is assisting in the search quite capably -- she has learned the secret passageways within the Rock easily and uses them as ably as you, Tyrion, and I might._

_We hope to see him at least once before he is too grown to be called a babe in arms, if the Seven smile upon us so. If you or Rhaegar have any business in the Westerlands, once the babe is old enough, please do come to visit. We would gladly host you at Casterly Rock._

_Love,_  
_ Jaime_

* * *

“Do you remember anything? Of when Tyrion was born?” Brienne whispered to him under the cover of night, and Jaime yawned, rolling toward her, so he could nuzzle the side of her arm like a puppy seeking attention. She rewarded him with a smattering of kisses, tracing their way along his hairline and he breathed out a happy sigh, entwining his ice cold feet with hers as she yelped in protest.

“Of him? Or of my mother?” Jaime asked, words heavy with sleep. He wrapped a hand around the back of Brienne’s neck, unsure in the darkness of which one, and could see a flash of delight in her eyes, in the sliver of flickering light that crept in from the torches in the hall. She so loved it when he forgot himself, when he treated his hands as one and the same so long as he was well enough to ignore the difference. “I remember more of one and little of the other.”

“I remember my mother. They said she was beautiful. The strongest woman the island had seen that was not born on it.” Brienne said softly. “Of Alysanne and Arianne, I remember nothing but little graves and littler bodies within them. But I remember her.” She rubbed her thumb in circles against the base of his skull, her thumb scratching against his hair. The staticky noise soothed the aching parts of him that yearned for his mother to reach through the years and hold him now. “They said she was kind and brave. That she made my father a better man by being at his side. That he carries her spirit within her even now.”

“I don’t remember anything of mine. You know that.” Jaime swallowed hard, trying to quell the lump in his throat’s mutiny. As soon as they had heard of Aegon’s birth, Jaime had begun picking apart the quietest parts of Casterly Rock to find proof of his mother’s presence, interviewing the few servants of Joanna’s that Tywin had allowed to stay on after her death about what might remain of her things. “She-- she apparently made Tywin Lannister’s presence bearable, so she must have been something special.”

“She made you.” Brienne kissed the tip of his nose with such tenderness that Jaime thought he might shatter to pieces in her arms. “She was undoubtedly special.”

“I don’t know if I want to find out who she was.” Jaime admitted. “I worry that-- if I make her real, if I find a diary, or some letters, or-- or some books that she read, that she might not be who I thought.” He tangled his fingers in Brienne’s short hair, taking a deep breath, as if it might ground him. “And if she’s not who I imagined her to be. What if she wouldn’t have liked me?”

He knew he sounded meek and unhinged at once, his voice shaking like the last leaf clinging to a tree branch in the Northern wind, seconds from being torn away from its home. But Brienne loved him through it as always. “So much of my childhood was… wondering about who she might be. For Cersei, for Tyrion.”

Those wonderings had been wildly different animals. For Cersei, Jaime had assured her that Joanna had been capable and strong, that Cersei’s quick mind and wit had come from their mother as much as their father. For Tyrion, he had woven the tale of a loving mother that would have cared for him most because of his differences, that would have had the fondness for him that he sought so desperately in Tywin’s cold heart.

All Jaime had ever allowed himself to ask of his mother was whether she might not be displeased with him. In dark, desperate moments, he had dreamed her into being to torment himself, voicing all of his worst, most dastardly thoughts. When the Bloody Mummers had taken his hand, it was not his father’s voice he had heard, but Joanna’s, asking whether he would be worth anything at all now that the only part of him worth a damn was gone, rotting away around his neck. When Aerys had hissed out the words “burn them all” for the first time, it was Joanna’s voice he’d heard booming in his skull, asking whether he had truly sworn himself to the King or if he’d fail Aerys just as he’d failed his brother, his sister, his father, and his mother.

“Did you ever wonder what she might be like for yourself?” Brienne asked. Her breath ghosted over his cheekbone, warm and comforting. “Or was it all for them?”

“They needed her more than I did.” Jaime pulled away from her touch, rolling onto his back. “They needed something good.” He smiled, though he knew Brienne couldn’t see it, for her benefit. “Growing up here was neither fun nor easy. They needed someone to believe in.”

“So you gave them a mother worth believing in.” Brienne reached out for his hand and he let her take it. “And took nothing for yourself.”

“They needed her more than me.”

He had so readily told Cersei that he would send on some of Joanna’s things for her, if he found them. He hadn’t even considered asking himself if he might want any part of his mother’s legacy. He’d never asked himself those questions -- making space for himself in his own life was far too painful. It was easier to bend the knee to Cersei, to let her make the rules, or to throw himself into making every step Tyrion took as easy as it could be. He thought he had something for himself now, some shred of identity that he’d clawed away from the jar of wildfire the Lannisters called a common personality, but what if it was nothing?

His heart felt cold in his chest, his face burning far too hot, and each breath came harder and faster until they blended into one another, tears pricking at his eyes. Brienne swept him into her arms immediately, whispering nonsense to him until he felt steady enough to tell her to stop, that he didn’t feel well.

She placed the back of her hand against his forehead and cursed under her breath. Maybe the sudden onset of sentimentality hadn’t been entirely innocent. He squeezed his eyes shut. Her touch burned.

“It-- It was a fever that took her.” He choked out. “After Tyrion was born. She-- she was fine, and then-- and then--” He coughed, the sound wet and heavy in a way it hadn’t been just earlier that day. “She was gone, and Father didn’t tell us what had happened for weeks. He forgot about us. He still does. And-- and sometimes, sometimes I wonder if Cersei wouldn’t have hated Tyrion if Father had remembered us.”

Brienne slowly disentangled herself from Jaime, peppering a few kisses across his cheeks before getting out of bed and heading for the door. He wanted to call her back, to ask for her to stay, but he couldn’t find the words. She seemed to find a servant right outside the door, and whispered to her for a few seconds before coming back to bed, the door left slightly ajar.

Whatever she saw in his face must have softened her heart further, as she climbed into bed beside him, taking him into her arms again.

“It was easier to go away inside than ask for anything for myself.” Jaime mumbled. “I could be what they wanted, if I went away.”

“Went where?” Brienne asked, with the careless certainty of someone who had never been asked to destroy herself for love. She carded a hand through his hair slowly.

“Inside.” Jaime said, as if it explained everything, feeling the sweet siren call of it even now. “It’s better there. I’m better there. I can be good.” He felt the lace of the first Brienne’s boot around his right wrist, looked down in surprise to see a palm and fingers extending from it. His vision blurred, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from sweat or tears, but he hated it. He burrowed his head into the side of her neck and whined like a kitten. “I’m so tired, Brienne.”

“I know, Jaime.” She held him so tightly that the feeling of drowning dissipated just enough for him to feel ashamed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be tired anymore.”

* * *

Brienne didn’t let Jaime leave his bed for two days after that, fussing over him during every moment he spent awake and reading too far into every nightmare. Jaime let her take her fill of it, knowing she would tire of him eventually. She hadn’t tired of him when he’d had his hand rotting around his neck nor when he’d been tied to a horse and left to die at his convenience, but that was a different Brienne.

Why would this Brienne, who had never known Jaime truly one handed, have any reason to suffer through his failings?

“I can hear your thoughts, Jaime.” Brienne climbed into bed beside him, pulling his head onto her chest. “Say them aloud. You will feel better.”

“If you can hear them, why should I say them?”

“I was worried that you had taken ill.” Brienne said fondly. “I will worry no longer.”

“Between the Spider’s words and Cersei’s and-- and everything else, I don’t know what I can do. I don’t want Aegon to get hurt.” Jaime rambled, feeling sick to his stomach. “It’s like-- no matter what I do, a child gets hurt for my mistakes.” He thought about Bran Stark, not even born yet, falling through the air, Jaime’s own hands paused in the windowsill like a warning sign. “No matter what I do, no matter how good I try to be, a child pays.”

“It’s the way of the world.” Brienne said. “No choice comes without consequence. Leaving home to marry you made things easier for my father, but left him alone on the island until you sent Tyrion to fill the gap. If I hadn’t married you, he would have had my company still, but at the cost of no protection against Essosi raiders and pirates beyond what little the Crown gives us and an unmarried daughter to care for. Thanks to our marriage, he has Lannister men to staff boats that had lain empty before, rotting in the shipyard. He has Tyrion to occupy his time now, who will not be asked to leave by his own father. Others might pay for our choices, but others still will also be happier for them.”

“You’re saying Aegon might suffer for my decisions, but that others might live happily for them.” Jaime hadn’t thought about saving people who had died so explicitly -- maybe this was how he was supposed to protect Bran Stark. Not by not pushing him from the window, but by making sure none of them were by the window to begin with. “That I have a chance to do the right thing.”

“I don’t think it’s just a chance.” Brienne said. “I think you will do it.” She sounded as if it was already guaranteed, that Jaime would save King’s Landing and all the people in it. She had always had so much faith in him. “When you feel well enough, write to the Spider again. You have much to tell him.”

* * *

Jaime strode purposefully toward his father’s study, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Brienne’s words had settled heavy in his chest and he’d felt possessed by a strange nervous energy since she’d spoken them aloud. He’d drawn up plans, had sent more letters to Varys than ever before, and had devoted far too much time to figuring out what resources he truly held. He felt like a clumsy clown of a child, playing at being the man Tyrion would one day become (or had become, in a life lived long ago), fussing around in his father’s footsteps like he had truly done anything at all.

When he knocked on Tywin’s door, he felt a strange sense of deja vu. The last time he had come to his father’s study like this, he had been prepared to argue for Brienne’s hand. Now, Tywin had taken full advantage of the ball being in his court and had refused to give up the topic of the meeting, just as Jaime had.

“Close the door.” Tywin said evenly, and Jaime did, settling into one of the ornate armchairs near his father’s desk. “You look well. Brienne said you had taken ill, some days previous.”

“I am.” Jaime nodded. “She took good care of me.”

“As you know, I will need to spend more time in King’s Landing now that Aegon has been born. Cersei needs someone to guide her, and as Hand, I am busier than ever before.” Jaime nodded along to his words like a puppet. “And you are managing fine here and staying out of trouble besides, so I do not fear leaving the Rock under your command as I once did.”

“You wouldn’t have called me here just for that.”

“I saw you with the Spider at Harrenhal.” Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “What did you have to say to him?”

“I passed along some information I’d heard from Ser Arthur Dayne. About the King. Some recent, and some from long before.” Jaime said flatly. “I spoke of how I fear for Cersei’s safety, so long as the King treats his family the way she says he does.”

“Cersei always exaggerates.” Tywin said, annoyance clear in his voice. “Pay her no mind. You can do nothing for her from here that I can’t do better in King’s Landing.”

“You didn’t say nothing needs doing.” Jaime pointed out. “Only that you’d do it in my place.”

“Is that why you chose to inherit rather than take the white?” Tywin asked curiously. “Because you worried about your safety. You sent Cersei to King’s Landing in your place.”

A twinge of guilt painted the inside of Jaime’s chest with pain.

“I would never have chosen to serve Aerys, knowing what he has done to those he loves. Because he does not love the smallfolk as Prince Rhaegar does, and there is no telling what he is capable of doing to them because of it.” He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Cersei is as much a pawn in her marriage as I would’ve been on the Kingsguard. They were joking about him, when we rode against the Kingswood Brotherhood. How obsessed he was with the Targaryen words. How he longed for dragons and their fire. I wanted no part of serving such a man.”

“You are not so stupid as we all thought.” The way Tywin said the words, it was clear that he meant them as a compliment. Or as close as he ever got to complimenting anyone. “The failings of the father being so extreme does not mean the son is without them.” He leaned back in his chair. “Prince Rhaegar is obsessed with the Stark girl, Lyanna. He will have her at any cost.”

“And leave Cersei with a babe in arms?”

“Aegon is hardly a babe in arms.” Tywin scoffed, though he was talking about a baby that had only very recently begun to crawl. “She has served her purpose -- she gave Rhaegar a legitimate son. His firstborn. No matter what he does with Lyanna, we have the power now.”

“And you would allow him to hurt Cersei? She bore his child, Father. If the Prince’s eyes are straying, you of all people should set him straight. As Hand, and as his good-father.”

“How have I hurt Cersei? She married a prince. It was better than she would’ve fetched otherwise, with her ambition and her delusions of power.” His lips curled in disgust. “And now she’s birthed the heir to Rhaegar’s throne. That’s value the Targaryens cannot deny.”

“Is that all the value you think she has?” Jaime’s voice trembled, and Tywin cursed under his breath.

“You have your mother’s heart. For worse, not for better.” He grumbled. “You could never be suited to power. If only you had Tyrion’s mind. You would be unstoppable.”

“Tyrion has Tyrion’s mind.” Jaime said feebly. “He is but a child now, but someday, he will be a man. You could ask these things of him then with confidence.”

“I trust a cripple more than I trust a dwarf, let alone one who killed my wife.” Tywin said sharply. “I called you here to understand what role you were playing. Now I know.” His eyes flashed with something akin to satisfaction. “And I would like you to continue. Perhaps we can get away with exposing Aerys’ unfitness to rule before his son runs away with the Stark girl. That will shore things up nicely.” He smiled, satisfied with his own answer to a problem he’d helped create. “Yes, that will do.”

Jaime nodded, feeling as if he’d been hollowed out with the blade of his own sword.

“Yes, Father.” He said. “I will pass the whispers I hear to those who need to know them.”

“To me.” Tywin said, a fierce look in his eyes. “I don’t care who else you play your games with, but I need to know what you know.”

“Then be honest with me.” Jaime said, anger a white hot knot in the pit of his stomach. “When-- when Mother died, did you forget us?”

“Forget who?”

“Cersei and I. You didn’t speak to us for weeks.”

“It was a difficult time.” Tywin’s face was unreadable. “You have to understand, there was the funeral to take care of, and then burial arrangements, and in between all of that, the business of being both Aerys’ Hand and the Lord of the Rock--”

“We were four years old. There wasn’t two minutes of your time to speak to us?” Jaime challenged. “We wouldn’t have needed much from you. Barely anything at all.”

“What do you want me to say?” Tywin asked, sounding thoroughly bored.

“Nothing.” Jaime took a step back.

He had never understood his father, though for years, he’d wanted nothing more. Tywin Lannister’s capacity for heartlessness when it suited him (and even more dangerously, when it didn’t) was legendary, and no one had suffered more for it than his children. Poor Tyrion, told he was a monster from the day he knew what the words meant, Cersei treated like a plaything because she happened to be a girl, and Jaime himself, stepped on and ground into the dirt whenever he proved to be anything but his father’s obedient son.

“You’ve said enough.” He passed through the door without a single peep from his father and stormed down the hallway toward the chambers he shared with Brienne, eyes brimming with tears.

What exactly had he wanted his father to say?

He couldn’t remember it if he tried.

* * *

“Jaime!” Jaime Lannister would know Addam Marbrand’s voice anywhere and rushed toward him with reckless abandon, throwing his arms around him with glee.

“Lord Crakehall let you go, did he?” He ruffled Addam’s shoulder length hair, which shone like copper in the forge. “To visit family?”

“Permanently.” Jaime’s heart soared at Addam’s words. Did that mean he would stay at the Rock, as he had in Jaime’s first life? “And with a knighthood besides.” Addam said proudly, his long, horse-like face alight with glee. “It’s Ser Addam now.”

“Well then, Ser Addam, you will be welcome at Casterly Rock for as long as you’d like. I could use a personal bodyguard.” Jaime said, and Addam’s grin stretched so wide that Jaime worried his face would break neatly into two pieces. “And a friend, first and foremost. I foresee no attempts on my life and the pay would be good.”

“As if I needed to be paid to watch over your sorry ass all day.” Addam laughed. “Why do you need a bodyguard when that wife of yours is always ready to fight for your honor? Or do you intend to make me fight her?”

“That’s up to the both of you to decide.” Jaime grinned. “I’ll happily watch her thrash you.”

“Me?” Addam said, wide eyed. “How good is she?”

“I do not call her the Lioness of Lannister for nothing.” Jaime said. “She’s forced me to yield more times than not.”

“I heard you’d knighted her.” Addam said, a twinge of discomfort showing through his inquisitive tone. “Is it true?”

“Any knight can knight another. It is not up to kings to decide who deserves the honor. I know that better than anyone else.” The flat of Arthur Dayne’s sword was still heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down, keeping his feet on the ground. “And if you would see how she comports herself, you would understand why she, more than any of the rest of us, deserves it.”

“I should like to meet her.”

“As my sworn sword, you will meet her plenty more than you’d like.” Jaime smiled. “And she will convince you of her knighthood the same way she convinced me.”

“Lady Lannister of the Rock now the first Lady Knight in Westeros… by the Seven, Jaime, you never do anything halfway, do you?” Addam chortled. “If she convinced you to settle down, she must be a formidable enemy.”

“A formidable friend.” Jaime corrected. “You do not wish to find out what she becomes when she is not on your side.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Lord Lannister.” Addam smiled. “If your wife might like to prove herself, I may have an opportunity for her.” He quieted suddenly, his brows drawing together, but spoke again. “A few close friends living near Golden Tooth have heard of some disturbances in the area. Robbers, rapers, all taking advantage of the smallfolk living in the mountains. I understand if you don’t feel comfortable with the idea of a lady knight traveling with a company of men, but--”

“This is a question for the lady knight, not for her husband.” Jaime said with a roguish smile. Addam had always thought him charming, and judging by the way the man’s eyes softened, like butter left out in the sun, that had not changed. “Ser Brienne would be eager for the chance to do something other than needlework and the practice sessions we can squeeze into our busy days. The Riverlands brought her great joy when we visited Harrenhal. A trip along the River Road would do much for her spirits. But the decision is hers. All I can say is that you would earn your lady’s respect and trust by extending the offer at all.”

“And the acting Lord Protector?” Addam asked, and Jaime swallowed back shock when he realized his friend was talking about him. That was Jaime he spoke of, the Lord Protector of the Westerlands in his father’s absence. Gods, he really had bitten off more than he could chew. “Will he not join us?”

“There is too much business to take care of.” He said, a myriad of other apologies and excuses hovering at the tip of his tongue.

Today, he could only feel one of his fingers with certainty, and two more through a maze of pins and needles. The other two remained stubbornly silent and stiff, as if they’d gone to rot. He remembered what that felt like very clearly -- it never stopped scaring him. He had woken up screaming, early in the morning, convinced his hand had rotted away from his wrist, leaving only the old stump behind, and Brienne, bleary eyed, had tried to rub some feeling back into his fingers as he cringed and whimpered like a child.

“I cannot be spared, unfortunately, though I would like the chance to test my sword again. Perhaps some other time.” He clapped Adam’s shoulder, nodding slowly. “It is an honor to have you among us again, Ser Addam. Have you spared no thought for Ashemark?”

“Ashemark will wait for me.” Addam said with confidence. “Judging by the speed with which you married yourself off, after leaving Crakehall, I doubt you will.”

“Ser Jaime!” Brienne called from behind them, and Jaime whirled about, thrilled as always to see his wife.

“Ser Brienne!” He exclaimed. “Addam, here she is. Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and Lady of the Rock.” He sauntered over to his wife to stand proudly at her side. “Ser Brienne, this is Ser Addam. A dear friend of mine. He was a page here at the Rock and we squired together at Crakehall.”

“Ser Jaime has offered me a place at Casterly Rock guarding you both.” Ser Addam bowed and Brienne, as she always did when people showed her such respect, looked bewildered. “If that pleases you.”

“It does.” Brienne smiled softly. “My husband does not tell me much of his life before he married. I should like to know more about him.”

“Fear not.” Addam grinned. “I have plenty of stories. He was a rambunctious devil, when we squired together. Lord Sumner could hardly keep him in one place long enough to teach him anything worthwhile.”

“I had my knighthood years before yours.” Jaime whined. “Leave me alone.”

“Gladly.” Addam snorted. “Your husband says you might be amenable to helping us settle a dispute out in the mountains near Golden Tooth. It is about a sennight’s ride from here, more if we rest our horses properly. Some bandits have been bothering the smallfolk, and the local keeps have not been able to handle the problem themselves. Your husband is sending a band of us knights under the Lannister banner, and we thought, well, as a Lannister knight-- it might be good for one of you to supervise, and, well--” He tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear. “Pardon my language, but Ser Jaime refuses to leave his haunted manse like the craven bastard he is.”

Brienne looked to Jaime, assessing him instantly with a single look, and nodded. “I would be glad to.” Her cheeks flushed in satisfaction. “I have not gone ranging in quite awhile. It would be an honor, if your men would have me among them.” She looked to Jaime, as if asking his permission, and the shell shocked look on Jaime’s face at such an allowance must have been enough of an answer, for she broke into her braying laugh and nodded again. “Yes, I think my husband wishes for me to join you as much as I wish to go.”

“Your husband wishes for you to learn your lands as well as you’ve learned the Rock.” Jaime corrected. “Someday the Westerlands will be our children’s dominion, and what will they say if their mother cannot name the roads that span the length and breadth of it?”

“The same thing they will say when their father cannot.” Brienne countered deftly. “But I should like to go, if both you and Ser Addam do not mind it.”

“It is Ser Addam’s choice, then.” Jaime looked to his friend. “Do keep her safe, if she cannot do it herself. She is my wife, even if she carries a knighthood better than any of us men.”

“Gladly.” Addam shook Brienne’s hand, awestruck. “It will be a pleasure to ride with you, Ser Brienne.”

Brienne looked as prideful as Jaime had ever seen her. Perhaps she was becoming a Lannister after all.

* * *

The colors of House Kenning, House Falwell, House Hetherspoon, and House Yarwyck joined those of House Marbrand, as the knights who had traveled to meet Addam at the rock saddled their horses and prepared to leave, all armored to the nines. Beside them, hung on a pole that someone had hastily driven into the ground, the Lannister banner fluttered in the light wind.

Brienne’s helm was on as she soothed her horse, which nickered at her happily, pawing at the ground, recognizing the timbre of her voice. She paid no mind to the fact that she was wearing purple and silver, instead of the red and gold to which she and Jaime had grown well used. On her surcoat was a gryphon passant guardant, its eyes boring into anyone that dared question its legitimacy, though it, like the colors Brienne wore, were fake. They’d decided them over a private dinner, giggling like they were the smartest in the world, as they drew plans. Brienne’s handmaiden had taken care of acquiring the cloth and doing the embroidery, paid off handsomely to tell others the cloth was for a dress she was sewing the Lady which, like the Lady, would not be seen for quite some time.

Jaime jogged over to her, and she paused, red-faced and smiling, to wave at him. “Good, you haven’t left yet.” He ached to say her name, to put the “Ser” she deserved in front of it, but knew better. Anything they said could be taken against them later. “I worried that you would be gone, by the time I saw you.” His chest heaved with exertion -- he’d run down several sets of stairs and many halls beside, heart beating rabbit fast at the thought of seeing only her retreating back, if only that.

“You said a meeting with the castellan would keep you.” She frowned. “If anyone sees you here--”

The knights were leaving from a quieter courtyard, one not often used, to avoid attracting attention. As far as the household knew, Lady Brienne had taken quite ill, her handmaiden’s palm greased by a few coins and a promise of a good placement in the household for her young son and daughter to add color to the tales of the sickness that kept the Lady isolated to her rooms, even her husband kept away for fear that it might be catching.

“They will assume I have come to say goodbye to my friend, Ser Addam.” His eyes were fixed on her lips. He’d given her a thousand kisses goodbye the night before, ensconced in the safety of their room, the fear of not knowing when he would see her next rocketing through him like a lightning strike. “They would never think that I would be here to say goodbye to my wife, who is currently sick upstairs. Poor soul. May the Seven heal her.”

“May the Seven heal her.” Brienne said, voice dropping low enough to pass as a man’s, and the pit of Jaime’s stomach turned to pure fire. “Be safe, in my absence. If you-- if you feel anything like what you did when your father visited, talk to someone. Send a raven to Tyrion, if there is no one within the Rock that you trust. Talk to Cersei, if she understands you, but keep your distance as well. You know what you need.” She looked over her shoulder at the other knights, who were all busy jeering at each other, before gently brushing the sweaty blond hair out of his eyes carefully with a gauntleted hand. “I will be home before you know it.”

He nodded with a sincere smile and, as Brienne mounted her horse, he tried not to feel as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. He wanted her to have her dreams and, judging by the excited chatter of the knights who had surrounded her, they were all eager to see how the mysterious purple knight only Addam knew fought. They rode out down the craggy mountain path leading to the River Road, and Jaime turned his back and strode inside, head down and eyes burning with unshed tears, as soon as they were out of sight.

He had told her to go seek her fair fortunes, to do as she wished. He had no business being upset when he had told her she could leave. When he returned to his childhood room, where he had had his things moved to further the ruse of Brienne’s illness, he dove under the covers like a petulant toddler, like by climbing into bed, he could forget that, when he woke, he would be utterly and terribly alone.

* * *

Jaime lay on the balcony, the summer sun setting his skin on fire, but nothing could touch the coldness in his heart.

Without Tyrion and Brienne to fill his days, there was nothing but business to take care of, and he crammed as much of it as he could into every waking hour, so much that his castellan had told him to take a day for himself. How could he afford to? Even now, his thoughts raced round his head, everything from the price of grain to the number and state of weapons in the armory keeping him from doing anything akin to relaxing.

It had been nearly a moon since Brienne had left with Ser Addam. He hadn’t expected to receive word from them until they’d fought the bandits away at Golden Tooth, but he wondered if it hadn’t been too long since he’d heard anything. Perhaps there were multiple bands to contend with, or they were too deep in the dirty work of fighting to send him any word. Maybe they were in a forest or the mountains were more treacherous to travel than any of them had anticipated. Maybe they’d forgotten to send word from Golden Tooth and were on their way back to the Rock already.

There were thousands of reasons why he wouldn’t have received any letters, first and foremost among them the fact that Brienne could not write a letter to her husband, with all the care and tenderness that would spill onto the page, without potentially blowing her cover. He would just have to be satisfied with the fact that Addam would have found some way to send word, if something had happened. Not that something would happen -- Brienne was an able fighter and could defend herself against any threat, and if she could not, Addam knew the truth of who she was.

Addam would keep her safe. His best friend wouldn’t fail him.

He sat in their empty bedroom for hours every day, to keep up the image of a devoted husband sitting with his ailing wife, and Brienne’s loyal handmaiden Elayne played at imitating her lady’s voice when they thought they might be overheard. The halls were filled with whispers of sympathy -- the servants had grown to love their new lady as they had once loved Jaime’s mother, and Jaime knew how unwell he looked only because the servants spoke of it with true sadness in their voices, how the golden lion had let himself go to ruin in sorrow over his poor wife’s health.

One poor man, who hadn’t realized Jaime was listening as closely as he was, had made the mistake of stumbling through a comparison of Jaime to Tywin, after Joanna’s loss, and when Jaime turned toward him, frowning, he ran, covering his face. He’d studied himself in the mirror afterward, beard overgrown and eyes sunken within his thinning face. He looked older than the round faced child he’d been when he’d woken up in this life. He liked it well enough, but he could see how those he served might think their precious lord neglecting himself in his wife’s name might be dangerous.

He hardly slept, in the childhood bedroom he’d once shared with Cersei, before her bed was moved away into a room “more suitable” for a girl of her age (away from her brother, who was obviously the one manipulating her into believing she belonged to him like a wife might belong to a husband). No one had spared a thought for him even then, had believed wholly that he was guilty, that he was evil. His sister could never have convinced him she was his world. No, it had to have been his plan, his idea, his dirty, insipid machination.

Of course he hadn’t been surprised by King Aerys, by Ned Stark, by everyone who hadn’t asked a single question of him before declaring him an oathbreaker, a criminal, a murderer. No one had ever thought he might be good before.

The room only served to remind him how easily he had fallen for the games his father and sister played with ease, how even Tyrion knew his way around the twisted pathways of their minds better than he did. There was nothing in it that felt like his -- the few trinkets scattered around the shelves spoke more of Cersei’s presence and absence (and the terrifying, soul-rending ways he’d paid for both) more than any shred of Jaime’s personality. How would he survive them without Tyrion or Brienne to protect him from the results of his decisions?

Cersei and his father were far away in King’s Landing, and neither looked likely to visit Casterly Rock any time soon. His heart was still gripped by such profound fear at the thought of either of them alone with him (not both, he didn’t hate himself nearly enough for that yet) when he lay down every night that he could do nothing but stare into the darkness, wide awake and haunted. Perhaps the balcony would allow him to sleep, though he would be open to attack.

Who would seek to attack Tywin Lannister’s cripple son? He had no enemies here save for the King himself, and the King had Cersei and Aegon in his clutches -- that was more than enough Lannisters for even the maddest of men. No, it would be much easier to let Jaime drive himself to ruin, as he’d proven himself so capable of. His father had always caused that in him, his pathetic need to please, how eagerly he waited to serve, to fix problems, to earn loyalty.

If even Tywin Lannister, who found some use in even traveling bands of criminals from time to time, saw no worth in you, you were truly useless. And Jaime was far beyond that point of no return. He stretched his legs out, cracking his ankles, before closing his eyes. He might as well try to catch a catnap, if he would not be sleeping again tonight.

* * *

_Dear Sers Jaime and Brienne Lannister,_

_I have not written in quite some time, and for that I apologize. I have been busy on Tarth and Lord Selwyn has kept me busy with readings and lessons. I have no idea how he has time to monitor my education so closely, in between the business of keeping the island out of debt and satisfying nearly every request the smallfolk have of him, but Lord Selwyn, like his daughter, is truly unique and remarkable. I haven’t had a letter from Brienne in quite some time. Is she well? (Jaime, take note -- your wife does not wait for you to write to me and you should feel free to do the same.)_

_I have gone adventuring in the mountains, as far as my horse could take me, and I have found it to be just as beautiful as you described, Ser Brienne. Visit me soon? I fear I am going mad with the company of just an old man (though Lord Selwyn is a uniquely lovable old man) and would like to see my favorite brother and sister again._

_Love,_  
_ Tyrion_

* * *

_Dear Tyrion,_

_It is Jaime writing alone, as you asked._

_Brienne is unwell but not seriously so. She will recover in time. Her father need not know of this, if at all possible. She does not want Lord Selwyn to worry, nor to consider visiting and perhaps catching this himself. I have been exiled to my old bedroom and she hardly lets me visit her, so no visitors would be useful at this point. She is doing better than she had before and the maester says it should be smooth sailing._

_Do not worry._

_I am well and the Rock is flourishing. The mines are safer now and the smallfolk thank me for it. I could not have done it without your recommendations. Father would despair at the thought of us leading the Rock to greatness together but I quite like the idea. Perhaps you will come home to us again, when you are a man grown?_

_Do some traveling first. It is the one thing I regret, but the Kingswood was far enough for me. Your tastes might run a little more broad and I would be glad for it._

_Yours,_  
_ Jaime_

* * *

Jaime rested his face in his hands as he stared out the window of the rookery, watching the raven flap its way toward Tarth. It would be weeks before the letter reached Tyrion, and even then, that was assuming no one shot the bird down or stole the message beforehand. Paranoia held Jaime tight in its grip these days, hardly letting him draw a full breath before violently squeezing it out of him. Any letter could be stolen and read. Any words could be used against him.

He had no one to speak to, outside the meetings that filled his days, so he didn’t speak at all, eyes flitting wildly about any room he found himself alone in as if someone might burst out from the shadows to kill him. It had happened twice already, and each time had signaled the end of the Stranger’s hospitality. Had the Stranger grown tired of Jaime’s games here too?

He had seen no flash of green, no ethereal cloak trailing round a corner, so he was not fated to die soon, but sometimes a trick of the light had his chest aching so profoundly that Jaime wondered if he might drop dead right then and there. Brienne would be so terribly disappointed if she came home to a cold body rather than a husband, and for that reason, he fought on, even as his teeth chattered and he felt less and less inclined to play at functionality.

Brienne still had not come home. Had she run away, tired of him? Had the life of being a nameless hedge knight proven far too attractive? Had she missed ranging about the countryside unfettered so much that her husband no longer crossed her mind? Cersei had grown tired of him in so many lifetimes, in such great leaps and bounds of logic -- it wouldn’t be mad to assume Brienne had done the same. He was so horribly taxing, wasn’t he? He asked so much of others and gave so little to them in return. Why wouldn’t she, a capable knight and the strongest woman Jaime had ever met, run for the hills at the first opportunity?

Why wouldn’t she, of all people, know his true worth?

* * *

_Dear Jaime,_

_I could tell. Your s’s are backwards. The top curve goes from right to left, not left to right, Jaime. Though that might not be helpful at all -- you could never tell right from left to begin with._

_Send Brienne my love and best wishes for a quick and complete recovery. I have said nothing to her father and wait on your command to reveal that information. I can only imagine how scared you are._

_Please let me know if anything changes with either of you. I should like to come home and see you both, if things are serious, but will wait for your word to book passage._

_Your brother,_  
_ Tyrion_

* * *

Even the caves felt lonely, Brienne’s name carved into the wall a taunt rather than a promise of greater things to come. Jaime paced the length of them relentlessly, losing hours to the steady rhythm of his feet against the soft, wet sand, losing himself in the dark place in his mind he hardly had to seek out these days. He sunk into it eagerly as he had in the Kingsguard, when he felt overwhelmed and terrified of what his future held, gladly allowing himself to be swallowed up by the nothingness and waking hours later to find he’d been mindlessly doing the same task in loops.

Cersei’s latest letter from King’s Landing hadn’t helped matters. She’d gone on and on about her happy little family, about how sweet Prince Rhaegar was with Aegon and how she was excited to give him another child, one he hoped would be a daughter. When Jaime thought of Rhaegar, all he could think of were his father’s words. How did Cersei not see this for the farce it was? Or was she just afraid to put the fact that she saw her husband’s betrayal coming sooner than later in writing?

Aegon, whose features had come to look more like Rhaegar’s than Jaime’s, as his father and Cersei had claimed at birth, would be an older brother in a few short moons. It seemed to only be yesterday that the boy had been born at all. She had enclosed a drawing with the last letter, and Jaime had shied away from mentioning in his reply that the boy resembled Tyrion, if any Lannister at all, with his blond curls and eternally pouting lips. But those violet eyes and the angular jaw hiding beneath its cloak of baby fat were all Rhaegar, and Aegon would grow into his father’s face easily.

It only remained to be seen whether Aegon’s father would be there to witness it.

The Spider’s latest missive had spoken of more stores of wildfire safely liberated from Aerys and wondered if there were ways to dispose of it safely. Jaime had spent nights awake in the library struggling through whatever books the Lannisters had on the subject, less than half sure that the words he was reading were the ones on the page. He needed Brienne, who was still away, to help him struggle through his thoughts, but she was not here, and there was no way to ask her back. So instead he spat obscenities at his own face in the mirror in the name of encouragement and powered through.

“The King is forgetful.” The Spider had written. “He excuses mistakes in his plans with forgetting spots he should have marked on the map, and I have convinced him all the tunnels are full, but he insists on making more. Our only saving grace is that he refuses to go see the tunnels for himself, afraid that he might leave Rhaegar the Throne. For now, we are hiding the jars my little birds lift on boats in Blackwater Bay. The water will not save us from the cargo, but it is the best solution we have.”

Aerys would not remain afraid of Rhaegar for long. Jaime had often speculated it was running away with Lyanna Stark that had finally broken the father’s stained glass view of the son once and for all. The second Rhaegar had set up shop in the Tower of Joy, Aerys had lost the last thread of connection to his former self, seeking justice through blood wherever possible. He had sought to burn down King’s Landing before, but never as fervently as he had after Rhaegar had left. Viserys was the heir he wanted, after that.

And if Rhaella and the children (for Daenerys would be conceived soon, if Jaime remembered correctly) escaped too early, the Baratheons would strike at Dragonstone before King’s Landing. It was all such a horrid mess, so many lives caught in the web of it, and the worst part was that Jaime could say nothing until Lyanna was taken without risking his own life and Brienne’s.

He stared at her name gouged into the wall with a peculiar calm descending upon him. He had to do this for her safety, for the safety of all future Lannisters to come, for all those who would be harmed if Aerys remained on the Iron Throne for a second longer than he had to. And he had to do it in a way that ensured his sister did not become Queen Regent -- he remembered how much blood Cersei had spilled to play that game and he wanted to see none of it in this new lease on life.

He sat down in the sand, his breeches growing damp with seawater, and sighed, hiding his face in his hands. He wished he had someone at his side, someone who understood him. He had been lucky to be hers for a time, but Brienne was unreachable now, probably having forgotten her stupid husband entirely. If he remained in the cave and never came up the mountain again, would they simply call Tyrion back from Tarth and replace him?

Would anyone ever come looking?

* * *

“Poor Lord Jaime.” One of the stable boys joked, unaware that Jaime was just around the corner, his horse’s reins in hand. “With his wife in her sickbed, he looks awful. You’d think he’d have found a whorehouse by now. Not like it’s hard to replace that wife of his. Stands to reason that he’s only with her for her--”

“Excuse me!” Jaime said sweetly, holding out the reins to the stable boy in question. “Could someone take care of him, please?” He softly patted the horse’s side. “I need to go see my wife. She’s ill, you know. Quite gravely so.”

“Y--yes, sir.” The stable boy stammered.

“And if she were well, she would not tolerate being spoken about like you’ve chosen to speak about her. Be thankful it is me in her place.” Jaime stared the boy down as he shook in his boots. “Mind your words in the future. You don’t know who’s listening.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder and he winced, before making for the bedroom he and Brienne used to share.

Was that what people thought of him? That he was desperate and broken without her to steady him? He wouldn’t dispute the truth, wasn’t nearly so stupid as to do that, but it was awful to think that others saw so easily the parts of himself that he hated.

His footsteps lead him up to their bedroom on autopilot, his mind swimming up to the surface of awareness slowly, as if through honey. Did they really think that was all he saw in Brienne? If so, he’d have to be more open, louder, so she’d understand he didn’t deserve her, that he had worried for her while she was gone, and saw it as an opportunity to improve himself. She had always worried about belonging here -- he would have to show her that Casterly Rock needed her, that her absence meant something to Jaime as much as it did to his people.

Without an heir to the Rock for them to fuss over and adore, Brienne’s kindness only reached so far into the minds of the smallfolk. Even members of his family had started to push at him, asking pointedly whether they’d consummated the union or not. He’d been told to close his eyes, if he needed to, to ensure a babe was born within the year. With Cersei carrying her second child, the disparity between the twins was more obvious than ever, and more often than before, people were whispering that something was wrong with him.

Something was wrong. Something always had been. It just wasn’t what they thought.

He pulled a chair up to the empty bed, pushing his face into the blankets, long unused and unmoved from the perfect way they’d been made the morning Brienne left moons ago. She’d seemed so happy to chase danger as any other knight would have been able to, to hide behind a helm and be as daring as a man would be allowed to be with none of the judgment. His own Danny Flint, without the tragic ending. He couldn’t bear to take that from her in the name of his convenience. She would have every opportunity to run wild -- he had never been able to deny her anything.

Let the whole realm think he hadn’t fathered an heir because he was ruined in some way. He had survived the Seven Kingdoms lying about him to his face for several decades, in his old life. He would happily do it again for Brienne’s sake.

At least this time, it would mean something.

* * *

_Dear Lord Lannister,_

_The bandits are vanquished and our mutual friend played a stunning role. All are convinced of how deserving our friend is of a knighthood if they weren’t before. There may be a new song or two for the bards of the Rock to learn by the next turn of the moon that your lady wife may enjoy._

_By the time the letter reaches you, we should be little more than a day or two’s ride from Casterly Rock. Our mutual friend is eager to see you again._

_Ser Addam Marbrand_

* * *

Jaime was sitting in his chair in the study he’d claimed as his own, brow furrowed as he reviewed the accounts the castellan had set out for him to look over, when Brienne found him. She looked stronger, her arms thicker than tree trunks and her shoulders broader than before, the freckles on her face standing out even more than before. He didn’t quite believe her to be real at first, looking up at her for a split second before turning back to the numbers that whirled and danced across the page like mad, rubbing at his eyes as if that would help.

“My lord husband.” Brienne said, and it struck him then that he was ignoring her. He snapped the book shut, getting to his feet far too quickly, his head spinning with the effort. “Have you forgotten me already?”

“Never.” Jaime said, eyes wide in horror. “I would never.”

He approached her slowly, afraid she would dissolve into nothing if he reached out for her too enthusiastically. He remembered how delicate he had been, returning from moons away from the people he loved. Would she even want him? Why was she here instead of resting? She gathered him into her arms with the same ease she always had, holding him so tight that he couldn’t doubt that she was here, with him, of her own volition.

“You don’t look well.” Brienne said, tracing her thumb along his cheekbone. She didn’t miss the bruise dark bags under his eyes, the way his clothes hung slightly too large on him. He’d forgotten to ask the tailor to take them in, too lost in the parade of numbers and letters that confounded him. “And you’ve forgotten your brace too.” She ran her fingers along his wrist, which twinged at even the lightest of pressure. “You haven’t been eating well. Have you been outside enough?”

“There was business to take care of.” Jaime said weakly. “I had to take care of it.” He laid the side of his head against her shoulder, bones creaking from such movement after sitting for so long. She rubbed his back in circles. “Father would’ve been mad. If I’d fallen behind. If I used excuses.”

“Did you?” She asked, pulling back to look at his face again. She looked concerned, confused, one hand carding through his hair while the other tipped his chin this way and that, as if looking at him from different angles would make him any better of a sight.

“No.” Jaime said, though the words rang hollow. He would drive himself to ruin for her happiness a thousand times over. His discomfort meant nothing. All his life he’d been uncomfortable for the sake of those he loved. If he could buy her freedom with his happiness, he would do it. “He never stopped trying to make me, though.” He shook his head violently. “Tell me about-- tell me about how it was. To ride with Addam.” He drew away from her, wringing his hands. “His letter said you proved yourself more capable than most men.”

“I did.” She said proudly. “You are trying to distract me, Jaime. Just because a few moons have passed while we were apart does not mean I have forgotten your tricks.” She reached out for him, hand closing gently over his shoulder. “Come. I think we need some time alone before we meet with the other knights. How many days have you worn these clothes?”

“Since--” Jaime’s brain went blank. “Two? Two days? Three?”

“You reek.” Brienne sighed, but did not sound at all put upon. Jaime held onto that like a lifeline. “We’ll change your clothes and put you to bed until the evening meal. And you can tell me more about what you did while I was away.”

“My things are in my old room.” Jaime said. He remembered once he’d said it that Brienne hadn’t seen his old room before. He feared it, like a lesser man would’ve feared a dragon. He’d stupidly charged toward one the one chance he’d had and nearly died for it. But he’d chased death like a drug, in those days. Now, he had better things to do with his time. “I moved them there when you left.”

Brienne’s expression went flat. She knew what history this house held for him. She took his left hand, squeezing it tight before bringing it to her lips, kissing each and every knuckle like she had never seen it before. “Would you like me to accompany you?” She asked, voice low. “I can-- I can wait in our room, if you’d like.”

It felt like the early days of their marriage again, like she hardly knew him anymore, and Jaime’s chest heaved and stuttered thinking of all the time they’d lost, how terrible she must feel to come home to such a mess of a man after such a beautiful adventure. She had to know what she was giving up. She had to feel it like a kick to the chest.

Why would she come home if he was all she had?

“No, no, come with me.” He begged, stumbling into her arms, hugging her as tight as he could. “I can’t be without you anymore.”

Her nose nudged his and suddenly, her lips were upon his like a hurricane rocking a boat, her hand on the back of his head keeping him where she wanted him. He sobbed with the relief of knowing where she was, of having her here with him, and she held him until he found some semblance of calm, whispering soothing things into his ear.

“My sweet Jaime.” The mere sound of her voice enveloped him in warmth. “You won’t be.” He looked up at her, her blue eyes snapshots of the summer sun. “I’m so sorry.”

“I would do anything for you.” Jaime mumbled, not able to meet her eyes. “Anything in the world. Any--anything you want.”

“You shouldn’t promise that.” Brienne sounded scared. “You shouldn’t promise that to anyone, Jaime.”

“So many people asked.” He rubbed his forehead. “So many people asked it.”

“I know, sweetling.”

She let go of him for a moment to pull a chair close so she could sit down and he whined, vision swimming with tears, like a tired child put down to walk the last few steps to his bed. He clambered into her lap, nuzzling at her neck, only able to breathe if the air was laced with the sweat-sharp scent of her. He was more a bear than a lion in that moment, but this maiden fair welcomed the bear into her arms instead of fighting it.

“We’ll be okay.” She promised him. “We’ll be okay.”

* * *

Brienne wore the purple and silver doublet Elayne had sewn for her while she was away to dinner, and the men who hadn’t figured out who the knight riding beside them truly was yet gaped at her in surprise. She squeezed Jaime’s hand, a subtle smile playing along her thin lips, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Welcome.” She said, and the men began throwing a riot of questions her way, each speaking over the other. “Thank you for your hospitality over the last few moons. My husband and I cannot tell you how much we are thankful for your kindness and willingness to see me home safe.”

“See you home safe.” Ser Kennos of Kayce murmured. “More like you saw us here safe. By the Seven, Lady Lannister. Well, I suppose Ser Lannister. You are a knight, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Brienne said proudly. “My husband knighted me shortly after we were married.”

“I saw she deserved the title more than I.” Jaime said, voice rough from disuse. “Every knight dreams of bestowing the honor of knighthood on such a warrior.”

“Forgive me if this sounds uncouth, Ser Brienne.” Tobin Yarwyck, hardly two years older than Brienne and Jaime but with the face of a man ten years older, stammered. “But you fought like a man. We had-- we had no way of knowing you were…”

“A woman?” Brienne raised an eyebrow. “Was it in any way relevant? Did it ever matter to our success?”

“No.” Tobin looked down at his plate.

“Then it should not matter.” Brienne shrugged amiably, shooting Addam Marbrand a winning grin. “So go on. Tell your families and keeps of Lady Lannister’s skill. If any among you has a sister or daughter that wishes to learn swordsmanship or simply seems ill-suited to embroidery, send her to Casterly Rock to foster.”

Jaime looked up at her in awe. She didn’t care for any danger that might come to their doorstep, and now his men were as loyal to her as they were to him. It was all of his dreams come true, wrapped up in the prettiest little package. He adored Brienne with everything he had. He’d worried that the men would react badly, but mostly they just seemed amazed, and likely more willing to consider the women in their lives potential knights as well.

“I’ve got a young one.” Rylen Hetherspoon said eagerly. “Evelyne. She’s only seven, but she fights better than her older brothers with less training.” He looked just as proud as Lord Selwyn always did, when speaking about his daughter. “When she’s old enough, would you have her? She’s too young now, but-- I would like her to learn. If she is half as skilled as you by the end of it, Ser Brienne, I would be a proud father.”

“I would be happy to help such a determined young girl succeed.” Brienne smiled. “Knighthood isn’t easy, nor should it be for everyone, but everyone should know how to defend themselves.”

“For what it’s worth, she’ll have my help.” Jaime cut in. “I don’t know what I’ll be able to do that she won’t do better, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Our lord and lady are well suited for each other.” Addam raised his cup. “To Sers Jaime and Brienne Lannister and their plan to put a knife in the hands of every lady in the Westerlands that shows an interest.”

Brienne raised her cup, grinning.

Jaime’s hand shook minutely as he raised his cup to match hers, but no one other than Brienne noticed.

* * *

“I can sleep elsewhere tonight.” Jaime stammered, as Brienne readied herself to sleep, clinically stripping down to her shift and smallclothes before clambering into her side of the bed. She watched him expectantly as he stood stock still, trying to puzzle out her intentions. “Should you need the space.”

“We’ve slept apart enough nights, Jaime.” Brienne said. “Do you need help with the laces?”

“Some.” Jaime admitted, though he’d gotten quite proficient in the one handed knots he’d had to learn in her absence. “Maybe not.”

He tugged on the laces of his tunic to prove a point and they fell open instantly. He wormed his way out of it carefully, attempting to avoid jarring his right arm, and once he had, Brienne scooted across the bed with something in her arms. The brace that the maester had given him after the tournament. He’d almost forgotten about it.

“I understand. You don’t want to show any weakness to your men. To your people.” She buckled the straps around his palm, wrist and forearm, adjusting the straps deftly. “But here, with me, I expect you to do what you need to be well.”

The pain faded instantly with the extra support, and his mind felt clearer for it. He reached for the laces of his breeches and they fell from his hips instantly when the knot loosened, as if they’d barely stayed up this long. He stepped out of his hose and climbed into bed beside her, as stiffly as he had on their wedding night, and he was surprised again when she gathered him into her arms, his face centimeters from hers, hardly any space between their bodies.

He raised his right hand to her face, cupping her cheek. “You’re more beautiful than you were when you left.”

“Oh, hush.” Brienne bristled at the compliment, as always, but Jaime knew how to handle it.

“I mean it. You look stronger. I would like to spar again.” Jaime rambled, trying not to seem to eager to be close to her again. “And-- and if you should want to stay--” He realized his misstep as soon as he’d said it, drawing away from her with his head hung. “I didn’t-- I didn’t mean that.”

“What do you mean, if I should want to stay?” Brienne reached across the distance between them to place a hand over the curve of his hip, where it fit perfectly. “This is my home, Jaime. With you. Leaving doesn’t mean I won’t come back. But coming back can’t mean I won’t ever leave again.” She tugged him closer and he followed her lead as always, not a second’s thought to doubting her. “I don’t think I will leave for some time. I think you need me now. But someday, I might want to go ranging again. For longer than a few moons. And I need to be able to trust that you will not be in pieces when I return.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve done better, I should’ve-- I should’ve--” Jaime swallowed hard, shame clouding his vision. “My father, the Spider, they asked-- they asked so much and I couldn’t--”

Any other knight, any other man would’ve handled his wife being away for a trivial matter of moons just fine. Maybe he would have even celebrated his independence. Jaime truly was pathetic, wasn’t he, clinging to whatever woman told him he was worth anything at all. No wonder Cersei had found it so easy to hurt him. No wonder Brienne had left -- she’d needed a break from him. How dare he try to stop her from leaving again?

How dare he presume she cared anything for what he thought, what he felt, what he wanted?

“Jaime?” Brienne called out, as if from far away, and he blinked slowly, feeling as if he was being poured back into his body. “There you are.” He could feel one of her hands in his hair, the other rubbing his back. He focused on the touch, using it to blast away the remaining distance between his mind and his body, and the shock of those connections reforging made his head hurt. “Jaime…” Her voice faltered, eyes brimming with tears. “Where did you go?”

“I don’t know.” He leaned his head against her shoulder. “I never know.”

“They asked so much of you that--” Her voice shook with barely controlled anger. “Before I left, you told me… you told me you used to go away inside, when you felt scared. When you wanted something but no one wanted to give it.” Fear had snuck inside alongside anger, and held the door for her words with its brother. “To make it easier for other people. For the people you love.” Her lips brushed over his forehead. “Did they drive you to that, Jaime?”

“I don’t know.” Jaime said hollowly. “I never know.” His trembling hands settled on her shoulders. “I only know when I reach for a memory and-- and nothing is there.”

“Is there anything? From when I was gone?”

“Too much.” Jaime squeezed his eyes shut, the desperate loneliness of those moons threatening to overwhelm him again, and she wrapped her arms around him so tightly that his thoughts could no longer touch him.

* * *

Rhaegar is missing. Rhaella and Cersei have searched what feels like the entirety of King’s Landing for him. Pray for your good-brother’s safe return to his family.

News has also come from the North that Lyanna Stark is missing. If this is a string of kidnappings of highborn lords and ladies, we must nip it in the bud.

Regards,  
Tywin Lannister  
Hand to King Aerys II Targaryen  
Lord of Casterly Rock  
Lord Paramount of the Westerlands  
Warden of the West

* * *

“Expect a storm from the Crownlands.” Jaime pronounced solemnly as he sunk into the chair beside Brienne’s. She was poring over a book with her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth, as if she was drinking in each word with her eyes. As he watched her, she guided one of the laces of her tunic to her mouth, chewing on the end of the string as her eyes danced along the pages. “Brienne. Brienne. Look at me.” He slid out of the chair onto the floor, laying at her feet like a distraught puppy. “Brienne?”

“Hm?” Brienne looked up from her book bleary-eyed, like she had spent so long in the world of the book that the world they lived in was foreign to her. “Jaime. I didn’t see you come in.”

“I’ve only been here for hours.” Jaime groused, picking himself off the floor before falling into the embrace of the armchair again. “You ignored me.”

“Did I?” Brienne smirked. So he’d rubbed off on her. “Oh, quit acting as if I’ve left you.” She flicked his nose, but Jaime’s expression, which had gone dour at her words, remained unchanged. “Jaime?” She frowned. “Is it news from your father? Or…” She trailed off, eyes sliding right off him. “Is there news from your sister?”

“My father.” Jaime said softly. “But it is of my sister as well.” He reached over for her hand, and she twined their fingers together, like cords coming together into rope. Like the bootlace she’d married them with in Winterfell. “Rhaegar is missing. He left in the night and no one has seen him. My father is searching far and wide, but Cersei is without a husband at least temporarily.”

“And Aegon is without a father.” Brienne finished his thought for him, eyes wide in dismay. “The Prince of the Realm, and he behaves so selfishly.” She scowled. “All men are the same. You only want one thing, and status changes nothing of it.”

Jaime nodded slowly, not sure whether interrupting her would do any good. He vastly preferred not being in trouble to potentially facing Brienne’s wrath.

“He has to realize he cannot behave like this. He’s a Targaryen.” She said, exasperated. “A future King. Even if he had grown dissatisfied with his wife, he cannot just-- run away like this, if he feels it suits him. He has duties to the Kingdom, to his wife, to his son.” Her nose twitched like a rabbit’s. “And yet he runs away, like a coward. I thought dragons were brave.”

“Dragons are like any other man, apparently.” Jaime said. “Prone to mistakes and madness.” He sighed. “I don’t know where we will find him. But I know who he will be found with.”

“Who?” Brienne spat, fury barely leashed in her voice. A knight’s heart, a knight’s honor would never condone such an act, and Brienne had both in droves. As much as she disliked Cersei, Brienne would never justify anyone causing her pain.

“Lyanna Stark.” Jaime said. “Word’s come from the North that she’s been kidnapped.”

“Lyanna Stark.” Brienne said softly. “She’s betrothed to the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Lord Robert Baratheon.” She hissed. “He won’t stand for such an insult, especially with it coming from Prince Rhaegar.”

It hadn’t yet, but it wouldn’t be anyone other than Lyanna Stark that Rhaegar had taken. He’d seen the way Rhaegar had looked at her at Harrenhal. There had been and would be no one else, not for either of them. Rhaegar wouldn’t have risked his life, his throne, and his marriage for anyone less than Lyanna.

He, like Jaime, had chosen the warrior over the highborn lady trained from birth to be a perfect princess. How alike they were, for good-brothers, in the best and worst way. Only Jaime hadn’t cheated, technically, and to be fair, he shouldn’t have been with the highborn lady in question to begin with. He knew that now, of course, with lifetimes of reflection to shore the boundary up, but he’d stumbled blindly into what he’d thought was love, just as he was sure Rhaegar had.

Rhaegar couldn’t have known how many people would die for his indiscretions. He couldn’t have known that he himself would die for them. The Battle of the Trident felt far too close for Jaime’s comfort. How little of Rhaegar’s body would Robert leave for Cersei to mourn? For Aegon, who was just now learning to say his own name?

He’d wondered how Elia had felt, in the age old world where she’d stood in his sister’s place, two children in her arms and her clenched jaw so stiff that it could’ve been crafted from Valyrian steel. He’d never had the courage to ask. He imagined he’d find out now. Cersei had always loved sharing her misery, but this time, he owed it to her to listen.

“He won’t.” Jaime said. “That’s why I said a storm’s coming.” He beamed at his own joke as Brienne groaned, pinching the bridge of her freckled nose in irritation. “Wasn’t that clever?”

He’d told Brienne that there had been a raven from Winterfell, so it was long past time to send one to Eddard Stark. He knew it was Lyanna, knew where she was. If the raven caught his father and brother before they rode to King’s Landing, it could save three people that had died for Rhaegar’s willful heart.

And it was all up to him.

He’d have to brush up on his spelling.

* * *

Eddard Stark,

Your sister is being hidden in a tower in the Prince’s Pass, in the north of the Dornish Red Mountains, by Rhaegar Targaryen. Do not let your father and brother ride to King’s Landing. The King has made it public knowledge that he intends to kill them. I hope this reaches you before they leave.

Ride for Dorne instead. Ser Arthur Dayne will be guarding the tower with two others of the Kingsguard. He will help you get inside. Approach him when he is alone and he will tell you when and where to storm the tower.

My lady wife and I would be honored if you rested at Casterly Rock for a spell as you return from Dorne. It is a long way back to Winterfell from the south and any help you require of us will be gladly given.

Godspeed,  
Ser Jaime Lannister

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister,

Thank you.

The letter in which King Aerys called for them to face true justice, sent from King’s Landing, reached us shortly after yours. My father and brother are joining me as we journey south to Dorne. By the time you receive this message, we should be a sennight from Winterfell.

My father and brother would have ridden to their deaths without your intervention. Do not hesitate to ask for anything I can do for you in return.

We will meet at the Rock next.

Eddard Stark

* * *

“The Starks are headed to Dorne.” Jaime folded the letter into a star. “Do you think they brought their furs with them?” He looked delighted by the thought. “They always do dress so somberly.”

“I hope not.” Brienne winced. “Heatstroke would kill them.”

“Starks won’t die for anything other than honor. Heatstroke wouldn’t stand a chance.” Jaime snorted. “I am rather glad they didn’t ask me to come along.” He tucked the letter away inside his pocket. “I do not know if I could fight Ser Arthur, if it came to it.” He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Ser Arthur will do what’s right. My only concern is how long it will take him to realize it.”

“Dorne and the Dornishmen have nothing to lose and everything to gain.” Brienne said. “None of their women are married to the Crown. The Prince knowingly dragged them into a crime. Ser Arthur is a Dornishman. He may have forsworn his own inheritance, but he did not forswear loyalty to his homeland.”

“He did swear loyalty to his king and his king’s family.” Jaime said, the vows of the Kingsguard coming to his lips so easily. It felt as if he’d only sworn them yesterday, instead of lifetimes ago.

To ward the king with all his strength. To gladly give his blood for the king’s. To keep his secrets. To defend his name, his honor, and his family. To counsel the king when requested, but otherwise keep silent.

Those vows had ruined his life.

He would never take them again.

“When doing so, I doubt he imagined his prince would kidnap a betrothed woman.” Brienne said. “Unless you know something about Rhaegar that I do not.”

Jaime thought of the Battle of the Trident, of Rhaegar’s blood flowing into the river, droplets shining little rubies as they caught the sun.

“Nothing, ser wife.” Jaime said, feeling rather faint. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

“My lord Ser!” A pageboy banged on the door of their room, and Jaime, blinking sleep from his eyes, tugged on a shirt and trousers and rushed to open it. “My lord! Riders at the gate! They are asking for you! The castellan let them in to a receiving room after checking they are not armed.”

“Good. I will see them now.” Jaime said. “Lower your voice, the lady sleeps still.”

He shut the door behind him and followed the boy down a series of winding staircases and hallways to a receiving room. He knew who he would find before he entered the room to see a young Eddard Stark standing beside his brother Brandon and father Rickard, the latter two of whom he had only seen once before -- on the day of their death. The last member of the party was the surprise -- Lyanna Stark, the double of her son Jon, was sitting in one of the armchairs provided, looking pale and tired.

“Lord Stark.” Jaime said, as kindly as he could given the hour. “It is an honor.”

“Likewise.” Lord Rickard Stark’s graying hair was drawn back into a ponytail, which only served to accentuate his stern features. His dark clothes spoke of the North’s frugality with color, and Jaime, in one of Brienne’s old blue shirts, suddenly felt far too overdressed for the occasion. “Am I to understand that it was you who told my son Ned where to find our Lyanna?”

“Yes.” Jaime nodded. “I wrote to him hoping to change your course before you reached King’s Landing. I was glad to hear you never went at all.” He wrung his hands, still very aware that his brace was on, a few straps peeking out from beneath his sleeve. “Anything we can give you -- food, drink, clothes, shelter, it is yours for as long as you should need it.”

“My sons and I don’t intend to rest for long. Lords Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon have not taken well to hearing the Kingsguard were found with my daughter. They are amassing forces in the Stormlands and the Vale, and we and the Northmen, led by my cousin Edric, will join them as quickly as possible.” Lord Rickard’s words were chosen for their functionality, his sentences clipped and purposeful. “Our request is for my daughter Lyanna. That she may stay here for as long as she needs.”

“She is most welcome.” Jaime smiled. “My wife will be thrilled to have company. I have been informed I no longer challenge her in sparring matches.” The Stark men all chuckled, well used to hearing the same from Lyanna. “Perhaps she and Lady Lyanna will find friendship in one another.”

“May the Old Gods and the New smile upon us so.” Eddard said solemnly. “Does House Lannister intend to stay neutral?”

“No.” Jaime said. “But my father and sister are in the capital. It is not so simple for us. Once my sister is home and safe, we will join Robert’s cause. Rhaegar cannot be trusted so much. He’d like us to think he can.”

Murmurs of agreement rose in the room, but Jaime’s eyes alighted on Lyanna, who sat stone faced and silent, unwilling to say a word against Rhaegar.

“There are a few empty rooms to choose from near Brienne’s and mine. Please feel free to come and go as you wish. Our rookery can be found if you follow the left set of stairs from the entrance hall all the way up. Should you need to write to anyone.”

“Thank you.” Brandon Stark said. “We never thought a Lannister would show such goodwill to Northmen.”

“I have a sister too.” Jaime looked to Lyanna again, who met his eyes with a fierce intensity that scared him. “I know what it is like to worry that someone you care for is lost to a Targaryen.”

“To Rhaegar.” Brandon pointed out. “He and your sister have a son.” It was as if Brandon Stark was realizing that Jaime was the Princess’ brother for the first time. He let out a low whistle. “Incredible.”

“I promise, the second we can, we will declare for Robert. Just… until my sister comes home, that’s all we ask. Tell Robert as well. The Lannister Army will march to King’s Landing when he needs them.”

“Robert will want the boy dead.” Ned said, barely above a whisper. “Your nephew.”

“Robert cannot have him.” Jaime said. “My wife and I will not allow it, and my father and sister won’t either. If he wants House Lannister’s loyalty, he will spare Aegon.”

“Aegon.” Lord Rickard said thoughtfully. “The Conqueror had that name.”

“They call him Egg, after the Aegon the Unlikely.” This drew laughter from all the Starks, including Lyanna. “Which should tell you something of my nephew’s temperament.”

“Not a future king, then.” Lyanna asked, the first time she’d spoken directly to Jaime since he’d entered the room.

“Not by half.” Jaime agreed. “As far as you can tell, with a child so young. They tried to sit him on the Throne with his grandfather and Egg simply… rolled off.”

“He rolled off.” Brandon Stark said, disbelieving.

“Nearly cracked his head open on the dais.” Jaime snorted. “He’s got a reputation already for dodging responsibility and he’s not yet two years old. Something tells me he’s not the threat Robert thinks he is or ever will be.”

“Our Ned was already himself by that age.” Lord Rickard said fondly. “All of my children were. Your nephew sounds like a good boy.”

“If the Seven smile upon us both, I will see him grow into a fine man as well.” Jaime said. “If it means anything, tell Robert he has my word that Egg won’t seek the throne, if he lets him live. If I hear of any plots, I will stop them before they come anywhere near fruition.”

“I will.” Eddard nodded, frowning. “You have done us a great service, Lord Lannister. I’ll make sure your nephew lives.”

“Thank you.” His eyes slid over to Lyanna again, who was considering him with the same searching look that her son had often wielded. “I will do the same for Lady Stark.”

* * *

“We have news from King’s Landing.” Jaime declared, and all at the table fell silent in anticipation. Brienne had been engaged in lively chatter with all the Starks, even Lyanna, which didn’t surprise Jaime one whit. She was exceedingly friendly, especially with Starks. He wasn’t surprised that she’d adopted a whole new bunch to replace the ones she’d nearly died for time and time again in a lifetime she knew nothing of. “They want heads. Lord Rickard’s, Brandon’s, and Eddard’s as well. But they won’t get them.”

“Because?” Lord Rickard, who had read Jaime like a bad hand of cards while he was coming down the stairs, asked.

“Because Lord Jon Arryn has risen against the king. It is being called Robert’s Rebellion.” Jaime smiled faintly. “Lord Baratheon requests that all who are loyal report immediately to the Vale. And, well, that’s where things get complicated.” He scratched his head. “Dorne and the Riverlands wish to form alliances with the North.”

“It seems simple enough.” Lyanna groused. “What are they dragging their feet for?”

“They want weddings.” Eddard spoke up. “Don’t they?” His gaze flicked up to Jaime, his gray eyes dark. He sighed, as if he had expected it all along. “Who will it be?”

“Elia Martell of Dorne for Brandon. Catelyn Tully of Riverrun for you.” Jaime said, trying to sound apologetic.

“Cat for Ned?” Brandon laughed. “She was promised to me just a few moons ago.”

“The Martells claim you and Elia will be a better match, being closer in age and of similar disposition. Which, knowing Elia fairly well, I can say is true.” Jaime grinned. “She likes jokes and flowers. Keep both in mind.”

“Neither Ned nor Bran has said yes yet.” Lyanna interjected. “You are speaking as if they are married to these women already.”

“They have no choice.” Lord Rickard enunciated each word clearly and succinctly. “Robert needs as many allies as he can find, if he is trying to take the Iron Throne for himself. We all must do our part.” He carefully avoided making eye contact with his daughter. “At the end of this, he will want to marry you. Be prepared.”

Lyanna glowered at her father, clearly upset, and Brienne leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear that seemed to set her at least partially at ease. He took his seat beside his wife, ignoring the sheer malice in Lyanna’s expression whenever she happened to look at him.

“Good thing we are already married.” Brienne said to Jaime. “Or we would be in the line of fire as well.”

Jaime snorted. “I would’ve asked for you again.”

“Typical.” Brienne rolled her eyes. “You always have to get your way.”

“That is what you have to look forward to.” Lord Rickard said, with a wave of his hand toward Jaime and Brienne. “Marriage isn’t so hard.”

The murderous look Lyanna shot her father would’ve sent Jaime straight to the grave.

* * *

“Lady Lyanna--”

“Do not presume you have the right to use my name, Lannister.” She spat the name like it was a curse.

This was what Jaime was used to from Starks -- ruthless condescension in the name of what they saw as justice.

“Lady Stark, then.” Jaime said. “I-- I don’t understand why--”

“He loved me, you meddling fool.” She hissed through clenched teeth. In this lighting, she truly looked like a wolf, barely constrained by her human form. “He loved me. He married me. And you stole me away from him. You told my brothers where I was and now I have to marry Baratheon.”

“He married you?” Jaime said, wide eyed. “Rhaegar?”

“Yes. He annulled the marriage to Cersei and married me.” Pride shone in her eyes, sickeningly strong. “What do you have to say to that?”

“Can he?” Jaime mumbled, confused. “Is that-- Can he do that?”

“He did.” Lyanna said, head held high. “So there’s no question of can.”

“He married you.” Jaime said quietly. “He…” He frowned. “He is with my sister now. In King’s Landing.” He wrung his hands. “Preparing for their second child.”

“He’s-- what?” Lyanna looked shocked. “He said he loved me. That he’d left her.”

“I don’t think he intended for you to find out.” Jaime said quietly. “And that’s crime enough. He may be my good-brother, but I can tell you, I approve of very little of what he’s done. To you and to my sister.” He frowned. “Did he ever… did he ever try to talk to you about the dragon’s three heads?”

“Yes.” Lyanna frowned. “Often. He always told me-- he always told me he wanted daughters now, that one son to inherit the Throne was enough.” She looked panicked. “What is it?”

“Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys. The last three dragon riders of House Targaryen. The sigil’s got a three headed dragon as well.” Jaime paused to look at Lyanna, who nodded slowly. “Rhaegar, if my sister’s to be believed, thought that the dragons would come back, if there were three legitimate Targaryen children to ride them. He’s got two off my sister and tried to get the third off you. He couldn’t wait long enough for her to birth the second babe and be ready to try again.”

“So he told me he would marry me, told me he loved me, and ran away with me in the hopes that--”

“That you would conceive, yes.” Jaime said. “Is it-- would you like some moon tea? I could have someone brew you some, quietly.”

“If he wants three dragon heads, he will have them.” Lyanna’s gray eyes burned with fury. Jaime was suddenly reminded of Arya. “He will not like them so much when the fire is turned against him.”

“Lady Stark.” Jaime began, but she held up a hand.

“Leave me be.” She spat. “I have had enough of men and their useless nattering.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I do not need another man telling me what to do, who to marry…” She fell silent, shaking her head slowly. “Thank you. You did not have to tell the truth. You did not have to tell me what-- what a horrible web of lies I fell into.”

“I did.” Jaime said. “I would want someone to tell the truth, if it were me.” It had been him, a lifetime ago, kneeling before Aerys Targaryen to accept a white cloak that would damn him for the rest of his days. And everyone let him do it, knowing it was a trap. “I thought I should extend you the same courtesy.”

“Targaryens lay clever traps for the rest of us.” Lyanna said balefully. “It stands to reason that one of us would fall in.”

“Just one would be a kindness.” Jaime sighed. “There are far too many of us to count.”

* * *

_Dear Ser Jaime,_

_As you have likely now heard, Tarth has declared for Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End. This complicates the matter of Tyrion’s safety, should the Lannisters back a different side._

_For now, I am keeping him inside Evenfall Hall and watched by trusted men, but I cannot make guarantees. Times of war make men do stupid and terrifying things and while I will never knowingly allow harm to come to Tyrion, I fear what others are planning._

_Your good-father,_  
_ Lord Selwyn of Tarth_

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t need any company?” Brienne asked.

Rickard Stark smiled at her with all the warmth of a father regarding his own child. He’d delighted in Brienne’s talent with her wits and her sword alike during their visit, and had been utterly thrilled every time she’d chosen to demonstrate one or the other, whether by exchanging barbs with Lyanna at the dinner table or training against any of the three Stark children in the yard. Rickard, instead of defending his children, had cheered for whichever victor triumphed, whether it was Brienne or a Stark, and had showered the loser with equal parts praise and advice which often saw them snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

Had everyone in Westeros had at least a passable father except for Jaime himself?

“We would delight in yours, Ser Brienne.” Brandon said with a winning smile. “You would win the war for us handily. But Casterly Rock is a large place. And your husband cannot handle my sister alone.”

“Quite right.” Brienne cast a fond glance at Jaime. “He will need me to settle his nerves.”

“I do not have nerves.” Jaime protested. “I can handle Lyanna well enough, should you want to join the battle.”

He did not feel anything of the sort, but he knew Brienne would appreciate the offer being extended, whether she chose to accept it or not. His knees felt weak at the thought of her leaving him again, however. If she did, he didn’t know whether Lyanna Stark would have eaten him alive by the time of her return.

“I’m needed here.” Brienne said, and strode up to his side to drive the point home, standing tall and proud beside him. “If the war comes to us, I will fight. Until then, I have a guest to host and a husband to keep in line.” She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “May the Seven watch over you as you travel north. May the Warrior keep you under his protection as you fight.”

“The Starks follow the old gods.” Jaime said. “I don’t know what words your gods use, but… I hope they are with you as well. It is a just cause. The old gods always did seem to like those.” He shot Eddard a weak smile, which the man returned. “Thank you for resting here. I do hope to see you again soon.”

“If the gods are willing, we’ll meet in King’s Landing.” Rickard Stark said. “A more peaceful King’s Landing.” Jaime read between the lines well enough to know what Rickard meant, but could not say -- a King’s Landing ruled by Robert Baratheon.

“If the gods are willing.” Jaime nodded. “We will gladly meet you there.”

* * *

_Dear Lord Selwyn of Tarth,_

_Eddard Stark knows what side we are on, and if Eddard Stark knows something, Robert Baratheon likely does as well. We may not fly banners, but we made our decision long ago._

_Thank you for doing your best to keep Tyrion safe. We appreciate it more than words can express._

_Love,_  
_ Sers Jaime and Brienne Lannister_

* * *

Jaime knocked on Lyanna’s door, expecting to find her abed, as the maester he’d dispatched to her rooms earlier in the morning had told him. Instead, he found her rummaging through the trunk in which she kept her clothes like a madwoman, wild eyes moments from shooting pure lightning. Lyanna Stark looked furious and Jaime Lannister was no learned man, but he thought he knew the reason.

“We will support you. In whatever you need.” Jaime said, and Lyanna turned upon him, furious. “Brienne and I, we will--”

“Don’t tell her.” Lyanna begged, and Jaime, taken aback, nodded like a puppet on a string, unable to stop once he’d started. “She can’t know yet. I’m not ready.”

“Is it his?” Jaime asked. “The…” He mimed a pregnant belly in front of him and Lyanna barked out a laugh, sounding more like a direwolf than a woman. “You know what I meant.” He scowled. “Should the acting Lord Protector stint not work out, I won’t seek a second career as a mummer.”

“It has to be.” Lyanna said. “I have been with no other man. Not even Robert.” She sounded almost wistful, though whether she longed for Jaime’s good-brother or Robert Baratheon, he couldn’t tell. “And now-- now--” Her face crumpled. “It will kill my father. To see his daughter debased so.”

Jaime almost wanted to tell her that her father had died once, but for her absence, not her presence. It would stress her, and stress the babe besides. No matter what Cersei had once made him believe, he was not that cruel.

“Maybe he does not have to.” Jaime said, and Lyanna frowned at him. “I will write to your brother. Suggest Elia come stay with a familiar face as Robert’s army marches southward. Elia knew me as a child, and with you here, both Stark women are well guarded by two knights, my wife and I.”

The plan took shape before him as he spoke, each new word giving it weight and depth it had not had before.

“Elia will understand your predicament. She-- she’s weak, she struggles with-- it would... If the child should have the Stark coloring, she could pass it off as hers. If it should resemble its father, Dornish blood is enough of an explanation for most people.” He swallowed hard, the magnitude of what he was asking from her striking him all at once. “That is, if you do not wish to raise the child as your own. You could tell them-- you could tell them that he took you by force, that way you and the child are safe--”

“I won’t lie, Lannister.” Lyanna said coldly. “I won’t rot away for the rest of my life in Winterfell under the lie that some man broke me and that makes me unworthy of anything. Because if I say those words, Bran and Ned will never let me leave the North again. My child and I will be prisoners in our own home.”

“So what will you do?” Jaime asked.

“I have several moons more to decide.” Lyanna quipped. “Though I assume my new good-sister will have something to say on the matter.”

“So I should write to your brother.” Jaime looked at her expectantly.

Lyanna’s lips were almost bloodless, pursed tight in a straight line.

“So you should.” She said haltingly, each word tripping over the last, like a crowd of drunk men trying to fit through a door all at once.

* * *

“My brothers are married men.” Lyanna said at breakfast, waving two letters like twin flags of surrender. “Ned and Cat Tully. Imagine that. She hardly ever spared him a second look when Brandon was in the room.” She frowned slightly before looking to Brienne. “Did you marry for love?”

“I did.” Jaime said cheerfully.

“I didn’t ask you, I asked your wife.” Lyanna deadpanned. “So, Brienne?”

“I don’t think I knew it to be love when we married.” Brienne mused aloud. “But it was, and I certainly knew it to be love after.”

“Perhaps it will be so for Ned.” Lyanna said, tapping her fingers against the line of her jaw. “He has always had such a soft heart. He loves so deeply. It would be torture for him, to spend his life with someone who did not love him.”

Jaime tried not to grimace before reminding himself he knew nothing of Eddard Stark’s childhood, nor what his sister thought of him beyond the fact that Lyanna’s death had left grievous wounds behind, ones that Catelyn Stark had despaired of never being able to heal. It would follow that Lyanna held secrets about Eddard Stark that had died with her.

“No such concern for Brandon?” Jaime asked.

Lyanna guffawed.

“Bran has a singular talent for finding his happiness wherever it is.” She said. “He will find a reason to smile no matter who he is with. Who is this Elia Martell, anyhow?”

“She was the closest thing I had to a friend who was a girl, when I was a child.” Jaime said. “Elia was uncommonly fond of pranks and mischief, and whenever she and her brother Oberyn came to visit, we would have the grandest time running in the hallways and breaking every rule that occurred to us. The house felt alive.” He smiled softly. “She has the most peculiar laugh, as if she’s surprised that she’s laughing. Brandon will hear it often. Lucky man.”

“She sounds much like you describe me.” Brienne piped up, her shaky voice betraying her insecurity.

“You are incomparable with a sword.” Jaime said. “Elia loves her books more than anything else. Take a guess which one I prefer.” He leaned in close to Brienne, forgetting Lyanna’s presence for a moment. “I knighted you. No one else. Remember that.”

“How is she with numbers? With running a household?” Lyanna cut in. “If she is to be Lady of Winterfell, I want to know that she will do the job right.”

“Perfect. Smart as a whip.” Jaime said. “In all the years I’ve known Elia, my one complaint about her is that she punches too hard.”

Brienne looked at him questioningly.

“Oh, never me.” He laughed. “Always Oberyn, though. Oberyn has a mouth that never stops. It gets him into a lot of trouble, north of Dorne. It’s why they keep him down there. Or, rather Elia’s punches used to. Once she comes north, the Red Viper’s free to wander.”

Lyanna grinned that wolfish, feral grin that set Jaime’s nerves on edge. “Then she will enjoy Winterfell. There are plenty of men that require lessons and plenty of ways to teach them.”

“I think Winterfell will enjoy her just as much.” Jaime smiled. “So tell me more about your brother Ned. All I know is that he writes letters to me like he’s addressing a Septon.”

“Oh, gods, Ned is terrible at writing letters!”

* * *

Brandon Stark,

Congratulations on your recent marriage. I was told you and your wife were still in Dorne, so I am addressing this letter there. I have heard that you are planning to ride north after spending some time with your bride.

If it would be amenable to you, since we are already hosting one Stark woman, perhaps we should host the set. My wife has been delighted by your sister’s company and would welcome another woman’s presence around the house. Elia is an old friend of mine and I would ensure no harm comes to her in your absence.

Ser Jaime Lannister

* * *

“You knighted me.” Brienne said, as she slid into their bed, her heavy blond brows drawn together above her strong nose. “You said you wanted me, not any other woman.”

“I did.” His hands settled on her hips. “Do you need some convincing, my love?” He nuzzled her shoulder, stringing kisses together along the line of her throat. “I love no one but you. I was made for it. To love you, for you.” Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging the thin cloth of his shirt into his back. “I’ve no need for any woman but you. Any face but yours. Any hands but yours, any heart but yours.”

“But she’s-- but she’s--” Brienne blushed, but not because of his particular attentions, and he drew back, a quizzical look on his face. “She’s… don’t make me say it.”

“She’s pretty?” Jaime asked, cocking his head to the right. He hummed thoughtfully, still sitting astride her hips. “Yes. That’s true. But you are as well.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Brienne grumbled, snapping her hips up as if she could dislodge Jaime so easily. “You said yourself I would tolerate neither lies nor flattery. Do not test my patience so.”

“I think you’re pretty. Others might not. Taste is highly individual.” He leaned down to kiss along her nose. “For example, I like knights with big hands and broken noses. Why would I look to Elia Martell for that? To any other highborn lady?” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. She was staring up at him like he was the Warrior made human. “Why would I ask of anyone what you give so freely? I promised to be yours and yours alone, Brienne. Just because our good-brother breaks his vows on a moment’s notice does not mean I will.”

“Men like you do not often seek out women like me.” Brienne forced the words out like sick from a sore stomach. “I worry. That you might not… That you might not find me…”

“What?” Jaime challenged. “Delightful? You are that and more.”

She laughed softly, the sound cut off by a loud, honking snort. “Delightful. That’s worth writing home to my father about.” She trailed a hand up his side, exploring each ridge of bone and curve of muscle. “Three men turned my hand in marriage down, before your proposal came.”

Jaime’s heart sank.

“I was the only heir of House Tarth, with my brother dead. It was an attractive prospect for many old men who wanted land.” Her lip curled in disgust. “The first man-- The first boy, really, was ten years to my seven. He died of a fever. He and his whole family.” Her eyes swam with tears. “I grieved for him for a time, as one would for a lost friend. I had-- I had just lost Gal, and everything was still fresh. Everything still bled, like an open wound. I felt infected. Like everything I touched would die.”

“You don’t have to tell me yet, if you’re not ready.” She trembled beneath him, her grip tightening on his shoulder blades as if he was holding her down to the earth. He pressed his knees into her heaving sides to steady her, to remind her he was there, and she let out a deep, shuddering sigh of relief. “At your leisure, Ser.”

“The second was a newly made knight. I wanted his title more than I wanted him, but I still thought it impossible then, that I might be a knight someday.” She swallowed hard. “I won’t speak his name. He doesn’t deserve such an honor. But he took-- he took one look at me and broke the engagement. Said a rose was all I would get from him.” She laughed, the sound thick with unshed tears. “That hurt the most, I think. To hear him say he adored my wit and my confidence in letters and then see me and-- and run home in fear.”

“So those things ring false in your heart when I say them.” Jaime said.

“Not in your voice.” Brienne’s own shook. “The third man was Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, a friend of my father’s. A castellan of some keep, because no lord left alive would have me, if the Conningtons would be believed. He claimed I would have to defer to him and play at being a lady when I married him. I told him I would if I lost.” Even as lost as she felt, Brienne smiled at the remembrance of her own victory, and Jaime’s heart soared at the sight.

“And then your father’s raven came. And I wondered, why would Jaime Lannister have any interest in me? Beyond my father’s land and shipping routes?” She toyed with the laces of his breeches, as if planning to mount an assault to distract him from the truth of her vulnerability, but he pushed her hand away just softly enough to change her course, bringing the hand to his lips to kiss every knuckle, every scar. “And then I saw you, when we visited, and my first thought was that you were beautiful. More than Ronnet Connington could ever aspire to.”

The words seemed to have slipped out despite her best interest, and she stared at him, surprised and sheepish all at once.

Ronnet Connington. He’d have to remember the name. An accident could be arranged.

“And you went through with the betrothal, like every man had thus far, and I thought oh, he’ll find some reason to be rid of me, but here you are. Here we are. I’ve lived at the Rock so long that I’ve forgotten what Tarth smells like.” She idly ran her fingers along his hip bone. “And then you married me, which no man had done before. And then you knighted me. And through it all, I felt wanted. And I wondered, for all you said the words, if you meant them. Because-- Because so many people had told me that no man would. And as we learned today, beautiful men don’t often think they have to play by the rules.” She pinched his side, a wicked smile on her face, laughing as he howled in dismay. “You all have a terrible blind spot the exact size and shape of yourself.”

“Do you still wonder, then?” Jaime felt something foul brewing in the pit of his stomach, his face warm and tingly. She had called him beautiful and compared him to Rhaegar in the same breath. Whatever could that mean? “About me?”

“I think that you are a better man than you let others believe.” Brienne said, with all the conviction she’d had in Winterfell. “That you love me, not despite my face, but for it. That you would never lie to me about wanting another woman in my place.”

“Then you have discovered the truth of our marriage.” Jaime leaned in for a kiss. “And there is no reason for doubt.”

“The heart does not always heed the call of the head.” She eyed him with something akin to desire, but softer, gentler. Maybe that was what love became, when husband and wife were used to each other, when enough secrets had been traded that each was merely a reflection of the other. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Then I will teach yours to.” Jaime laughed against her lips. “It won’t be the first time the Lion of Lannister has done something previously thought impossible.”

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister,

We are at Highgarden now and should reach Casterly Rock some days hence.

If it would not be a burden, I would feel much peace of mind knowing my wife was as well guarded as my sister, and both by two knights nonetheless. With her so new to the ways of the North, I was worried about leaving her in Winterfell alone while we men ride off to war. This solves both of our problems.

Many thanks,  
Brandon Stark

* * *

Jaime ran to the crowd in the courtyard, sticking his hand out for Brandon to shake. Brandon embraced him gladly, like Jaime was an old friend. The expression on Jaime’s face must have been funny, as both Lyanna and Brienne burst into laughter at the sight of it.

“The married men, comforting each other.” Lyanna quipped. “How wonderful. I knew Brandon would make a friend on this trip, but I had hoped he might find someone else.”

“Someone closer to home, perhaps.” Jaime patted Brandon’s back before disentangling himself from Brandon’s lanky limbs. “Elia.”

The sight of Elia Martell, alive and well, stole his breath away. She smiled as she had when they were kids, with the same reckless abandon, all of her teeth on display, and Jaime swept her into his arms as he would’ve when they were young.

Elia, alive.

Elia, newly married to a man who wasn’t Rhaegar, with a whole future ahead of her that wouldn’t end in King’s Landing. He could almost cry at the thought of his friend getting the happy ending she deserved, a safe life in the North, and with Brandon at her side nonetheless. He’d paid the price of her life with his sister’s safety, and while he regretted that anyone had to marry Rhaegar in the first place, Cersei would never be allowed to die in the same way Elia had. Cersei would never have been, and never would be, treated as disposable in quite the same way.

“Marriage has been treating you well, Jaime.” Elia’s bell like voice rang out. “You are smiling.” She looked past him at Brienne. “I suppose we have you to thank, Ser Brienne.”

“Has news of my knighting spread that far?” Brienne asked, face redder than a tomato.

“The women of Dorne are calling you a hero already.” Elia let Jaime go to rush to Brienne’s side. “I should like to hear everything about how you convinced dear old Jaime. He’s a pretty face, of course, but you have to plant the ideas in his head or he’ll never have them.”

“I decided to knight her.” Jaime protested.

“Did you?” Lyanna shot him a withering glance.

“I hope I did.” Jaime mumbled. “Otherwise I’ve little to be proud of, on that count.”

“Ah, ignore them.” Brandon threw an arm around his shoulders. “The chatterings of women. Aren’t our ladies delightful?”

“Newlyweds.” Jaime sighed. “When will you stop tormenting me?”

* * *

“Lyanna.” Elia said gently, her hands settling on her good-sister’s upper arms. “I’m thrilled to meet you.”

Lyanna smiled wanly. “Lord Jaime has told me much about you. I am excited to see if even half of it is true.”

“Even half.” Elia’s eyebrows shot up. “So you know him well, then.”

“I would like to think so.” Lyanna shot Jaime a withering glance and he giggled like a child. “I’ve spent far too much time in his company. I don’t know how Ser Brienne survives it.”

“He’s interesting.” Brienne said, which didn’t help matters at all. “Quite fun.”

“Thank you, dear wife.” Jaime scowled. “Storming the shores as always.”

While the three of them tossed barbs back and forth, Elia looked Lyanna over, a knowing glint in her eyes, and whispered something inaudible in her ear that made Lyanna’s face go so red that Jaime worried her head might explode. There was silence between the two good-sisters for a moment, dangerous, charged silence, before Lyanna nodded sharply, to Elia’s apparent surprise.

“They know.” Lyanna said, the words nearly growled out. Jaime could see whispers of Arya in her. “Or at least he does.”

Elia nodded slowly. “I suppose he should know that I’m willing to help you.” She fixed Jaime with the same determined stare she’d had as a child, when they’d watched Cersei terrorize Tyrion, frozen solid by fear. “In whatever way necessary.” She smiled kindly at Lyanna for a second before turning back to Jaime. “I am a Stark now, you know. I am told wolves are loyal.”

“You shed the protection of Dorne so quickly, Lady Stark?” Jaime chuckled. “So eager for the North?”

“The North will have an heir, sooner rather than later.” Elia said, and Jaime knew she had seen Lyanna’s predicament for what it was. “So I must be well practiced at being a Stark by then.”

* * *

“I will see you soon, lady wife.” Brandon cupped Elia’s cheek, his eyes soft as a summer breeze. “Guard your health as closely as I will guard your heart.”

“This is disgusting.” Jaime said, loudly enough to catch the newlyweds’ attention. “We’ve never been that horrible.”

“As I remember, you cried at our wedding.” Brienne raised an eyebrow. “Let them be sentimental if they wish to be, husband.”

“But it’s my house.” Jaime pointed out. “And every Stark is either effusive or annoying or both.”

“I hope that’s not my sister you speak of, Ser Jaime.” Brandon called back to them, earning a light slap on the wrist from Elia. “For she’ll have your stones for that.”

“You have our best wishes for a safe return, Lord Brandon.” Jaime said. “The less you carry on with your wife, the quicker you’ll see yourself to Riverrun.”

“All true words, every last one.” Brandon nodded sagely. He placed a chaste kiss on Elia’s cheek, staring into her eyes for a moment before mounting his horse. “Well, then.” He said to his retinue of men. “Let’s hurry.”

“If you die, I will bring you back and kill you, Brandon!” Elia called out to his retreating back. “Do not doubt me for a second!”

“I would never make such a mistake.” Brandon yelled, looking back over his shoulder. “I may not be clever, but I am not stupid! That is Lannister’s domain!”

“So it is.” Jaime shook his head with a sigh. “Newlyweds. How I despise them.”

“We were newlyweds not so long ago.” Brienne pulled him close. “Have you forgotten already?”

“Perhaps you should remind me.” He grinned.

“Oh, stop it.” Elia stomped her foot. “My husband’s just left for the war! Have some mercy!”

“Mercy?” Jaime feigned surprise. “Oh, I’ve never heard of that. I’m only a Lannister.”

“Must be some Dornish tradition.” Brienne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hasn’t made its way east to Tarth, at any rate.”

“Mercy.” Jaime nodded slowly. “Is that when you’re even more obnoxious about having something that others do not? Just because you were asked not to?”

“That’s the opposite of--”

“Do you know what?” Brienne’s smile spread across her face like a raindrop hitting the still surface of a lake. “I think that’s exactly it.”

* * *

“I have spoken to Lyanna.” Elia said, closing the door to Tyrion’s old bedroom behind her. “We are of an accord.”

Jaime perched on the corner of the bed, looking rather bothered to be in his brother’s space at all, though Tyrion hadn’t lived at the Rock for more moons than Jaime could comfortably count.

“What accord?” He asked, picking at the dirt under his fingernails.

“I will raise the child as my own, if we can pull it off.” She said conspiratorially, with a wink at Jaime. “Lyanna is young, unmarried, and beautiful. She has a future ahead of her. A bright one, if Robert Baratheon is not all bluster and falsehoods. A throne, if he will have her as his queen. And all that is required is someone to raise the child as a Stark.”

“And you will?”

“Brandon will be none the wiser.” Elia said. “Not if we time it right. Not if the babe comes before he returns.”

“It will be some months before the army reaches King’s Landing, if the strategy remains what your good-brother mentioned.” Jaime said, frantically grasping at dates in his head. The army was still regrouping at Storm’s End. The Battles of Summerhall, Ashford, and Stoney Sept still had to be fought before the army even reached Riverrun, and after Riverrun came the Trident. And then the army had to march down to King’s Landing. “So you will be the child’s mother, then?”

Jon would be born before Brandon returned, but it would be close.

“The child is trueborn and half-Stark besides. I know how bastards are raised here.” Elia scowled, anger twisting her doll like features into something dangerous. “They are not treated so callously in Dorne. They would never be. You call them baseborn, make them beg for attention, leave them unclaimed to rot while their half-siblings live in the lap of luxury. I will not stand by and watch a child suffer for the crimes of their father, no matter what the man might have done.” The heat of her glare beat down on him, like the sun on the sands of her home. “If I am so lucky as to bring any part of Dorne with me to the North, it is that one. I will not ruin a child’s happiness for the convenience of adults.”

Elia’s chin tilted up a few degrees as she spoke, her posture straightening, and he could see the makings of the princess she had once been, the makings of a potential Queen of the North, should the Seven Kingdoms shatter apart someday, as they had in Jaime’s first life. If Sansa Stark were to be born into this world, she would delight in having Elia for an aunt. They both loved their fairy tales in the best way.

“So you will take a Targaryen into your home?” Jaime asked carefully. “The child may have Stark blood in their veins, but the madness of the dragon runs strong in his father and grandfather.”

“Who better to raise a dragon than a viper?” Elia raised an eyebrow. “Whatever fire and blood the child spits, I can handle. My body may be weak but I assure you, my tongue is not.” Her eyes sparkled with glee and he knew she was imagining raising a little Stark of her own. “I may not be able to give Brandon children. We have known it since I was young. This child, Lyanna’s child, might be our only hope.”

“And if the child is a son? Will you let him inherit ahead of your children? Ahead of Brandon’s trueborn children?”

“He will be Brandon’s trueborn son.” Elia said. “The blood of his sister is his blood as well. Should the child come out of the womb silver haired and purple eyed, perhaps we will have to hide them. But should the child be born with the Stark coloring, it will be no hardship at all to convince my lord husband of the timing.”

“No hardship.” Jaime grimaced. “Wouldn’t Oberyn like to hear that.”

“Oberyn had plenty of horrid things to tell me about my wedding night, don’t you worry.” Elia shook her head, laughter turning her every movement musical. “If he ever finds love, we will ruin him for it.”

“Gladly.” Jaime promised. “Our Red Viper has had too many opportunities to grow his ego.”

“A different head grew, one could say.”

“You disgust me, Lady Stark.” Jaime gagged. “Away with you.”

“The child will be mine. I will love the child as if they had been wrought in my womb. If that is what you are worried about.” Elia said. “If Lyanna should birth a boy, Winterfell will be his home as much as it will be to the rest of his cousins. As much it would be to any children I may give Brandon, after the war is over.” Her words were firm, holding the line like a trained army. “Perhaps having a prince for a father is the secret to making a man responsible.”

“What would one call a half-wolf, half-dragon?” Jaime mused aloud. “A dwolf? A wagon?”

“I’m personally fond of wagon.” Elia laughed. “Though dwolf is fanciful.”

“I am glad to hear the child will be loved.” Jaime said. “And Lyanna? How does she feel about this?”

Elia’s expression darkened. “She knows her duty. She knows her heart. The two are pulling her in opposite directions.”

“Don’t they always?” Jaime sighed.

“Not when the easy choice and the right one are the same.” Elia said softly. “And for some lucky people, they are.”

* * *

_Dear Cersei,_

_I do not know what Rhaegar has told you to win you back, nor what promises he has made, but he has lied to you and cheated you. You deserve better than that. Your brothers are always here to protect you and our protection is coming._

_Be strong. Harder things have come and gone in our lives. We have lost more than this before and we will not let ourselves be played for fools. That is not the way of House Lannister nor is it the way of people who do not wish to be taken advantage of. We will not be stepped on anymore._

_Send my love to Egg. Brienne enjoyed your story about the Iron Throne. I was beginning to think he was all Targaryen, but he really is my nephew._

_Jaime_

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister,

Summerhall and Stoney Sept have fallen. The armies of the North, the Vale, Dorne, and the Stormlands have proven too much for many of the keeps of the Riverlands we have passed. We march toward Riverrun, where my brother Eddard and my good-sister Catelyn await, where Eddard and the Tully men will join us.

We are told the Siege of Stoney Sept is being called “The Battle of the Bells” for the bells the townsfolk rang in warning. Robert is in good health and good spirits and I hope both are true of Elia and Lyanna as well.

Lord Brandon Stark

* * *

_Dear Jaime and Brienne,_

_I have not heard from you in quite some time. I am feeling cooped up on Tarth, but Lord Selwyn says I shan’t leave. Are you well? What is happening? All we hear news of is an army advancing on King’s Landing, and Tarth is preparing for a naval battle._

_Write me back soon, please._

_Your brother,_  
_ Tyrion_

* * *

_Dear Tyrion,_

_We are both well, just busy. We are raising the Lannister army, which should prevent a battle at sea for Tarth, but please listen to Lord Selwyn. Whatever he tells you, follow it without question. After this is all over, please come home for some time. Brienne, in particular, misses you terribly, and so does Jaime._

_Love,_  
_ Jaime and Brienne_

* * *

_Rhaegar is dead. Passed at the Trident two days hence. Viserys Targaryen is now heir to the Throne._

_Tywin Lannister_  
_ Hand to King Aerys II Targaryen_  
_ Lord of Casterly Rock_  
_ Lord Paramount of the Westerlands_  
_ Warden of the West_

* * *

“What’s that?” Brienne looked over his shoulder. “He--” Her breath hitched. He could feel her heart jackrabbiting out of her chest from where it was pressed against his shoulderblade. “Prince Rhaegar’s dead?” Her voice rang hollow. “But how--”

“Robert’s men.” Jaime said. “Viserys is now Prince. Egg’s behind him, for now, but he and Cersei should be free to leave King’s Landing.”

“Viserys is hardly old enough to ride and now he’s Prince of the Realm.” Brienne said, disbelieving. “Imagine that.”

“That is how succession tends to work.” Jaime shrugged, though the words felt callous even to him. “Good riddance. Cheating bastard.” He heaved a sigh. “Someone ought to tell Lyanna. She’s the only one of us who might grieve him properly.”

“That’s an awfully cold letter, even if he did leave Cersei. He came back.” Brienne frowned. “Your father’s been King Aerys’ Hand since before you were born, hasn’t he?”

Jaime shrugged. “I don’t know the numbers, but that sounds right.”

“So he’s known Rhaegar since he was born.”

“Very likely, yes.”

“Is that how one would speak of a child they’ve known all their life?” Brienne asked. The calculating expression that she always wore when she was about to lecture him about how families behaved was painted across her face like a warning sign. “I do not think so.”

“It is how he would speak of me.” Jaime scoffed. “You’d get a raven months after the fact. It’d read ‘I assume others have neglected to tell you. I killed Jaime with my bare hands months ago. I will ship his body home if you will pay the caravan. Warm regards, Tywin Lannister, Hand to King Aerys Targaryen, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands’--”

“That’s enough, that’s enough.” Brienne looked aggrieved. “I will not have you speak of yourself that way.”

“He would, that’s all I meant.” Jaime shrugged.

He’d long since stopped feeling sad about his father’s failings. When he’d heard Tywin Lannister had died from a crossbow bolt to the bowels in his first life, he’d winced. When he’d heard his father had died on the latrine, shot by his newly freed from prison brother, he’d had the best laugh he’d ever had in that lifetime, or any lives since. Nothing would ever equal the happiness he’d felt then, he was sure of it. Knowing that he’d played even the tiniest part in his father’s demise by breaking Tyrion out of the Red Keep’s dungeon had warmed his heart for years to come and still did, sometimes, when Tywin’s actions annoyed him enough.

For now, however, his father was harmless. Jaime wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him until the Targaryens were off the throne. In place of Rhaegar, Tywin would gladly slot Egg into his schemes, hoping that being half-Lannister would make Egg easier prey to his grandfather’s manipulations. If anything, it’d make Egg less likely to fall for Tywin’s favored bells and whistles.

“He won’t, if I have anything to say about it.” Brienne’s eyes blazed with barely contained fury. “Not of you, not of Tyrion, and not of Egg either.”

“Who better to protect us than our lady knight?” Jaime smiled, a soft, gentle thing. “Are you collecting charity cases, ser wife?”

“All Lannister men seem to be so, ser husband.” Brienne laughed. “All of you wanting to be saved. My little damsels in distress.”

“Save for my father, of course.”

“He can rot where he stands.” Brienne said. “No offense meant, of course.”

“None taken.” Jaime winked. “If we’re lucky, he’ll drown in his own shit as well.”

* * *

Jaime heard a heart wrenching wail from deep within the keep and knew that Elia had delivered the message he’d asked her to pass along.

Lyanna was awfully irritable these days, wanting nothing less than to suffer Jaime’s company. He did not want to be the one to deliver the news that the father of the child she carried was dead, as the mere sight of him often sent her flying into a rage. He wouldn’t have been able to stand the abject misery on her face, to know her heart was shattering in her chest, that her every hope of being swept off her feet by the prince that had stolen her away in the dead of night had melted away.

For one horrible moment, he imagined Brienne’s death in place of the cavalcade of deaths he’d imagined and lived, and nearly choked on his heart as it leapt into his throat. Only a taste of what Lyanna would now carry for the rest of her days, and it had him sick to his stomach. His legs carried him down the hall to their rooms, and he found Brienne at the writing desk, scribbling a message to Tyrion.

“I love you.” He whispered, his voice cracking and crumbling, the words barely audible. “The Prince is dead.”

She looked over her shoulder at him blankly, her face frozen in confusion.

“I love you.” The words tumbled forth from her mouth, as if called by some mysterious magnetism to Jaime’s heart. “Then-- then that was Lyanna.”

“So it was.” Jaime said softly, sitting on the end of the bed. “So it was.”

* * *

_Dear Father,_

_In light of what has happened, please allow Cersei and Aegon to return home. A widow should be with her people. Brienne and I can care for her and the child as she needs while you continue to take care of business in the capital._

_Jaime_

* * *

“Do you ever wish knights were like they were in the stories?”

A hand slid up a chest to a shoulder, fingers curling lovingly around it.

“Do I? Often.”

“Do you ever wish we could fix everything?” Teeth rasping over an earlobe, followed by a giggle. “That-- that every injustice in the world could be solved by a sword?”

“Often.”

“Isn’t it so sad?”

“It is. It always is.”

* * *

We will return home after the funeral. Keep men you trust on hand to watch over Aegon. There is no telling what some people will do out of desperation.

Tywin Lannister  
Hand to King Aerys II Targaryen  
Lord of Casterly Rock  
Lord Paramount of the Westerlands  
Warden of the West

* * *

“So your sister will be here.” Brienne twisted his sword out of his grip neatly, sending it clattering to the floor. Jaime stood there, dumbstruck, blinking in surprise for what felt like hours before his knees bent enough to retrieve the sword. “You-- you asked your father to bring her home. Do you think you’re ready? To see her?”

“I would not have asked, were I not ready.” Jaime said, the words rasping from his dry mouth. “I would not have asked, should she not need it. The Rock is a haunted place for all of us, not just me.” He gripped the pommel as hard as he could, his fingers stiff as icicles. “She has lost her husband, Brienne. She has a child in hand and another on the way. She may have hurt me, but she is still my sister. She still deserved better.”

“And if she tries to hurt you? Because she’s been hurt?” Brienne sheathed her sword. “She has done so before, Jaime. She might do so again. With a child, with a dead husband, a dead prince nonetheless… she’s vulnerable, Jaime. And you know what she thinks, when she is vulnerable.”

“That I should be too.” Jaime whispered. “But it cannot be that way anymore.”

“You are not her, my love. Nor are you her reflection.” Brienne said. “Sometimes there is no purpose to things. They happen as they will, and we give them meaning, for better or for worse. Some will seek to use those moments to hurt, others to heal. Your hand was on her ankle for lack of space in the womb, not for any other reason. She may try to make you believe it, but we both know the truth.”

“I wonder whether she was ever the person I dreamed her to be.” Jaime admitted. “If there was ever a time before her hurting me. If she ever was… as innocent as I thought she was.”

“That’s a question I cannot answer.” Brienne said. “But Tyrion will only be too happy to talk. The poor thing, we’ve left him without a single letter for far too long.”

“He’ll be thrilled. That she is here and he is not. It’s a long held dream of his.” Jaime cracked a smile. “To think, he and I dreamed of living here without her and she dreamed of living in King’s Landing without us. What a mess it has all become. We had our dreams and then they had us.”

“Dreams are that way.” Brienne frowned. “But to their benefit, they are easy to change. They take on new forms easily.”

“I dreamed of you, once. Before we met.”

He’d heard her voice in his mind, in his heart, and he’d sped away toward Harrenhal again, hoping against all hope that he hadn’t left her to die. He’d jumped in the bear pit, begging her to get behind him, delirious with joy that he’d made it in time. That he could repay any of the debt of gratitude that he would owe her forever.

“Did you?” Brienne looked flabbergasted. “What about?”

“That you needed my help. Then I met you and I realized you didn’t need anything from me but my name, and even that was optional. I loved you all the more for it.” Jaime gave Brienne an affectionate shove. “Do you think she will have Aegon take the Lannister name? Should Robert win?”

“I think he will still be a Targaryen.” Brienne said. “No matter what name he carries.”

“Cersei is still a Lannister. She wears the Targaryen name for its protection, not because it is hers.” Jaime said. “The day it ceases to protect her, she will claim the Lannister name again. It is all about-- it is all about power, all about possession, with her. I do not wish to have any part in it. The game of thrones is not for men like me.”

“Then who is it for, Jaime?” Brienne’s eyes twinkled like stars.

“Idiots, Brienne.” Jaime grinned. “Idiots with far too much time to spare.”

* * *

“What are we going to do?” Brienne gripped a hank of her straw colored hair in her hand, pacing back and forth in front of Elia and Lyanna, who seemed undisturbed. “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”

Both Stark ladies had quickly understood that it was in both Jaime and Brienne’s nature to worry over everything, and when one was worried, the other would throw themselves into an illogical state of misery just to try and empathize properly. Understanding Jaime and Brienne’s peculiarities were essential to understanding the rhythm of life at Casterly Rock, life which would be changing shortly, with the impending arrival of Tywin, Cersei, and Egg. Life which would no longer shelter Lyanna, whose belly was swollen with Rhaegar’s child, from the judgment of the outside world.

“We-- We--” Jaime scratched his head. “There’s plenty of wings in this house no one uses. You could stay there. We could have your meals brought to you, like we do now.”

“You think Cersei won’t request a whole wing of the house for herself?” Elia scoffed.

“Fair.” Jaime nodded slowly. “Very fair, actually.”

“You mislike his sister?” Brienne asked curiously. Jaime couldn’t believe it hadn’t come up before. “Why?”

“She’s a terrible person.” Elia said, as if there were no more need to elaborate. “Why, do you like her?”

“No.” Brienne said, baffled by the insinuation. “She’s awful.”

“Good.” Elia smiled. “Then you are even better for Jaime than I thought.”

“Like her or not, she’s on her way from King’s Landing right now.” Jaime said. “And it’d be better for us to arrange for Lady Elia and Lady Lyanna to stay elsewhere. Perhaps closer to Lannisport? There’s, uh, no shortage of houses for rent there, and we could-- if Brienne were all right with it, her handmaiden, Elayne, is known to be loyal. We could send her to stay with them, for now. To have someone of our own with them, to keep them safe.”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, Elayne is a mother herself. She’ll know… what to do, when the time comes.” Her gaze flickered to Lyanna, who didn’t look particularly enthused by the prospect. “For both Lyanna and the child.” She frowned. “What shall we do? If the child should have… their father’s looks?”

“We will put it up to Dornish peculiarities.” Elia shrugged. “Or we will dye the child’s hair. There are a multitude of ways to keep things quiet, so long as the eyes are not his.” She wrung her hands. “If the eyes are his, there will be no hiding it. So we must hope that the child resembles their mother as much as possible.”

Lyanna smiled weakly.

“Are you sure she won’t say anything? This Elayne?” Lyanna asked Jaime.

Both Elia and Lyanna’s continued presence at the Rock had been kept secret, as if it were a matter of life and death, Jaime and Brienne personally bringing their meals to them and keeping them company in the east wing of Casterly Rock, where no servants went, because Tywin and Joanna had lived there until her untimely death. It was dusty, due to lack of use, and moth-eaten, but it was the only part of the Rock that no one would wander into by accident.

“She won’t. We’ll give you false names, tell her you’re distant relatives. Your husband passed away and his family… kicked you out of their holdings in favor of his brother, let’s say, and you can’t return home with his child because your parents won’t have it. So you’re having the child here, as I, a concerned cousin, took you in. Elia can be your sister, here to support you.” He shrugged. “There are a wealth of stories we can tell that will earn sympathy and avoid questions.”

“How soon?” Elia looked around the room. “We’ll have to pack some things, of course.”

“And we’ll stow away the others, so when you return home to Winterfell, you’ll have everything you brought in hand.” Jaime nodded. “As soon as possible, I’d say. I’ll send someone to inquire about houses for rent nearby, perhaps Elayne herself, and we’ll find something before Cersei gets here. In the meantime, if you can, gather your things so that I can arrange for them to be stored.”

“You are a better man than I thought, Ser Jaime. Doing all these things for us.” Lyanna said. “You could have told anyone what I’d done. What he’d done. About… the child.”

“I could have. But it wouldn’t have been right, would it?” He smiled gently at her. “In a roundabout way, the child in your belly is my nephew or niece by marriage, thanks to their father. I’ll guard them with my life as I would my sister’s children. Your child and Cersei’s will be of an age, I think.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What a man.”

“What a man indeed.” Lyanna’s face could’ve been crafted from stone. He’d seen it so, once, a terrible approximation hidden away in the Stark crypts in Winterfell. “I am glad we all seek to protect the child, should it be possible.”

“We’re knights, Lady Stark.” Brienne said. “We must protect women and children above all else.”

“Would that it were that simple.” Lyanna said, looking down at her clasped hands.

* * *

"Elayne says they're settled in Lannisport." Brienne pushed her food around her plate. "Now we wait."

Jaime nodded slowly. "It's all we can do."

* * *

A carriage rattled into the courtyard, followed by a train of others, and Jaime stood stiff on the doorstep, sweating through his clothes, Brienne by his side. The door swung open and Tywin Lannister, scowling, emerged through it, looking old and weathered. He turned to Jaime, opening his mouth to bark an order, but before he could, a little towheaded boy jumped from the door of the carriage to the floor, whooping in joy, running to his grandfather to tug at his breeches to get his attention.

Tywin’s scowl softened just enough for little Aegon to know he’d won whatever game they were playing, and the little prince laughed, hopping up and down like a rabbit on the run. Behind them, Cersei exited the carriage to no fanfare, her head bowed, subdued in a way Jaime had never seen her before, even in her worst moments.

Even in her last moments.

“It is good to see you, sister.” Jaime called out toward her, and she paid him no mind, gathering Aegon to her side and brushing his hair out of his face like Jaime cared one whit for his appearance anyhow. “It has been far too long.”

“It is good to see you, brother.” She said, after her son was presentable to her standards. Her dull green eyes met his only hesitantly. “It has been far too long.”

“Enough of this sentimental tripe.” Tywin pushed past Jaime. “Come along. No dawdling in the courtyard like goons.”

“M’name’s Egg.” Aegon said softly, as his mother, uncle, and aunt all tried to get through the front door at once. “I’m a big boy.”

“Imagine that.” Brienne smiled at him. “Imagine that.”

* * *

“She looks--”

“Broken.” Brienne said miserably. “And why wouldn’t she? Her husband is dead. She is no longer the princess.” She gripped Jaime’s shoulders like their lives depended upon it. “You said it is all about power, to her. Now she has none. There are no more games to play. She’s-- she’s used up her chances, at least for now. Egg’s not in a position to be manipulated either, not for years upon years.”

“I should like to--” Jaime swallowed hard. “To help, but I don’t know how.” He leaned back into Brienne’s touch, eyes slipping shut. “I want her to be happy again, but not at my expense.”

“Will she allow that?” Brienne’s lips ghosted over his forehead. “Your happiness?”

“I don’t know.” Jaime said softly. “But I would rather know than not.”

* * *

“Once I thought I knew my future.” Cersei’s eyes grew misty as she stared out of the window.

Despite the luxuries she’d enjoyed in the Red Keep, Cersei looked gaunt and pale, her swollen stomach the only reminder that she was with child. An aura of soul-deep exhaustion kept everyone at arm’s length. Save for Egg, who begged his mother to chase him around the Rock for as long as she could handle, the only thing that roused her from her bed. Her golden hair had gone dull and her smile was sharper now, more dangerous.

Whatever artifice Cersei had believed herself to have at Casterly Rock had burned to death as Rickard Stark once had, melted away in its own armor. Now, she had nothing to lose.

“What did you know?” Jaime asked, following her line of sight to the craggy edge of the Rock, clearly visible only from the library window.

Widow’s weeds didn’t suit her. The harsh blacks made her look even more pale and drawn. Jaime yearned for colors. For green, to make her eyes look bright. For red and gold, to make her feel at home. For something to make Cersei look alive again, unlike this wax sculpture bearing his sister’s name.

“I paid some old woman to tell me what would become of me. She told me false stories, as all old women do.” Cersei scoffed, looking all too much like Joffrey. “Perhaps my future is somewhere else. Somewhere her eyes couldn’t see.”

“If you paid her to tell you true, she undoubtedly lied.” Jaime said. “You should ask for your money back.”

Cersei laughed, a hand pressed over her mouth. “I should, you’re right. I should.”

Jaime didn’t think she had ever said he was right before. It stopped his heart in its tracks, blindsided by the impact. Maybe she had changed. Maybe King’s Landing had taught her that playing the game at all was wrong, that even ignoring the rules made you complicit in every life lost so someone’s ass could be uncomfortable for hours every day.

“She said I would marry a king, not a prince. And I married Rhaegar and thought that she was wrong, that I had wronged her. That I had beaten fate itself. But then… I didn’t really win anything, did I?”

“You won Egg. You won the child in your belly.” Jaime reminded her. “Maybe that was a future she’d seen for you. Not the one you chose. I could’ve been many things. I could’ve joined the Kingsguard. I could’ve taken the Black, as I threatened Father. There were many paths I could’ve taken. And here I am, Lord Lannister in waiting.” He smiled weakly. “I don’t think that old woman could’ve seen the paths we took coming if she’d tried.”

“You need something more than foresight to pin down a Lannister.” Cersei smirked. “We are far too wily to step in traps.”

“That you do, yes.” Jaime shook his head. “Will this one bear our name, then?”

“She is a Targaryen, for better and for worse.” Cersei said. “I will not have her take my name like some kind of fatherless bastard.”

“If they need a father, a man in their lives… I will do my best.” Jaime said softly. “I do not know how much I can do for them, how much you will be comfortable with, but I want them to know a good father. I want them to grow up knowing they have a home here. We would’ve been happier, if we had.”

“Thank you.” Cersei said stiffly. “If only you could’ve married me.”

“That is not for us, nor has it ever been.” Jaime said. “But I can still be in your life. In theirs.” He placed his hand over hers. “What we felt for each other wasn’t love, Cersei. It was the delusion, one Father made for us, that we were all we had in the world, all we would ever have. And it ruined both of us for a time, but now we can help each other. Now we can do good for each other.”

Cersei didn’t pull her hand away, which was victory enough.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” She croaked. “I don’t know if I can love him. I don’t know if I can love the baby. I don’t-- I don’t know anything.” She seemed weak, breakable, for the first time since the ceiling of the Red Keep rained down on them. “I let that man take everything from me because I thought he would make me queen. I let him get children on me, I let him-- I let him pretend we were happy, and this is how he repays me. With death and a kidnapping and a war.” Her face crumpled in on itself as she began to sob. “My life would’ve been so much easier if you’d come with me.”

“I couldn’t have.” Jaime said. “And I won’t let you make me feel bad for it. I did what was right for me.”

“Are you happy, then?” Cersei’s eyes flashed with anger, as if she couldn’t believe he had dared to feel something other than the crushing sadness she was laboring under.

“I am.” Jaime said. “More than that, I’m-- I’m at peace. I feel… I feel like things can only get better from here, for me, for our family. Anything I can do for you will be for the good of all of us. But I cannot listen to you call me selfish for choosing myself over you. I am more than a way to get what you want, Cersei.”

She looked confounded by the concept and another spiderweb crack opened on the surface of Jaime’s heart.

“So my future is up to me, then. Is that what you’ll have me believe?” She scowled. “Two children and a failed marriage. That’s all I have. That’s all I’ll ever be. My name is ruined. I’ll never be more than the mother of dead Prince Rhaegar’s children. My son-- my son won’t even inherit the Throne. He’ll have to wait until someone kills that insufferable brat Viserys to even have a chance at--”

“Do you hear yourself?” Jaime asked, shocked. “Do you hear yourself truly, Cersei? You just wished someone might kill the crown prince of the realm, your good-brother nonetheless, so that your son might take his place in the line of succession. That’s treason, Cersei. Treason.”

“I am working for the good of our family. For my children. For our house. Securing our future, our throne, by any means necessary.” Cersei spat. “Something you would know nothing about.”

“Know nothing about.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “I wrote Father to bring you home. I wrote Father to come home himself, so that he could serve as a comfort to you, because for some reason only the Seven know, the two of you have always found some solace in each other.”

He turned his back on her, pacing the length of the room, every single square inch of carpet an annoyance. The opulence of the room, the choking oppression of the red and gold, he couldn’t stand any of it.

“I told him you and the children would be welcome here for as long as you would like to stay despite every way you’ve wronged myself, Tyrion and Brienne, and I’ve told you the same as many times as you’ve needed to hear it. In what way do I know nothing about working for the good of our family? I invited you into my house knowing you would accuse me of abandoning you in your time of need despite me letting you in. I know the truth of you, Cersei, and it appalls me.”

“You are my brother, my beloved brother.” Her voice shattered like glass against the stone floor. “The only man who has ever truly loved me, and you say I appall you? I disgust you?”

“And I say that because I love you, sister, not because I hate you! If even your husband’s death hasn’t rid you of this insatiable thirst for power, what will?” Jaime’s voice rose far too high. “Who else will have to die for your little plots, Cersei? Your children? Our brother? Our father? How much blood will you spill before you realize this is not your game to win?”

“You say nothing of your wife.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nor yourself.”

“My wife would never die for you, nor anyone trying to rule her.” Jaime glowered at her. “And I wouldn’t either.”

“You were supposed to be my knight.” Cersei said tearfully. “You were supposed to be mine.”

“And I am yours no longer.” Jaime said. “So don’t make the mistake of assuming all will be as it once was. I will support you. I will care for you. I will give you the things you need. But I cannot be yours. It is not good for either of us.”

“You’ve forgotten.” She sounded desperate. “It’s only that you’ve forgotten how much I loved you. How much we needed each other. I’ve been away too long, and--”

“Stop! Just stop!” Jaime roared. “I’ve forgotten nothing, Cersei, and interestingly enough, foremost among the things I’ve reminded myself of since you left is that this has always been about you. About what you want. About what you need. And I am tired of being a means to an end. So by the Seven, feel free to seek the throne by any means necessary. For yourself, for Egg, for your second child. I don’t care. I just won’t be the means you use. Because I am tired of you using me.”

“I never used you.”

“You have been using me since we were born.”

“Lies.”

“Only because you refuse to hear the truth.”

“You accuse me of treason, but you never came to help your princess in her time of need. You said you would help me and you never came to rescue me.” Her lower lip wobbled and Jaime knew it to be false.

“I opened my home to you. That is the help I offered. But I have my own life and my own marriage to care about first. I cannot drop everything for you anymore, and I should never have done so in the first place.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“Not as a husband should. As a brother should. It would do you well to learn the difference.” Jaime shook his head. “There is no making you see reason. You see only what you want to see.”

“I see what is right.”

“You make the mistake of assuming again, sister.”

“You disparage me in our home and--”

“This stopped being your home when you married Rhaegar.” Jaime said. “King’s Landing is your home now. If you want power so badly, return to that ash heap that your good-father rules from and beg him for mercy. I won’t have that behavior here.”

“Don’t you care for your nephew? Cheated out of the throne by his horrible uncle? Don’t you think Egg would make a better prince? That I would make a fine Queen Regent, if it came to it?”

“No.” Jaime said firmly. “No, I think you would be awful.” His chest grew tight as he thought of Cersei manipulating Joffrey, then Tommen into making the choices she’d planted in their heads, how Tommen had paid for thinking independently with his life. “I think Egg would suffer under your rule and the realm would suffer more. I think he deserves to be a normal little boy, and do silly and stupid things, and when he is old enough for it, he will learn his father’s legacy and decide what kind of man he wants to be.”

“You are useless.” Cersei hissed. “You and your morals and your bleeding heart. You’ve never had the guts to do what was right for us. You’ve always dithered about like some maiden, too afraid to spill blood to get your way.”

“And you’ve never realized that you can get your way without spilling blood.” Jaime said. “And it seems you never will. I’m tired of arguing.”

“Then go, abandon me like you always do.” Cersei huffed. Her cheeks were wet with crocodile tears. “Leave me to drown in my own misery. The good man you say you are would help his sister, but you will ruin me for your own gain.”

“No.” Jaime said. “The man you’re thinking of is not good at all.”

* * *

“Hello there, little Aegon.” The little lordling in question peeked out from behind a chair twice his height, violet eyes wide as dinner plates. His ears were still too big for his face, making him look rather comical, but all children of his age did. “Or would you rather I call you Egg?”

His blond hair curled around his ears like Tyrion’s had at that age, and now that Jaime’s gotten a good look at him, what he’d felt about the drawing Cersei had sent was truly reflected in the boy’s face. Aegon resembled Tyrion more than either Jaime or Cersei. Perhaps Tywin’s pronouncement of a resemblance to Jaime at Aegon’s birth had been down to the color of his hair and the way Cersei had written that Aegon, even as an infant, had always slept with his arms stretched out above his head like Jaime had as a child.

“Egg.” He said proudly, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his round face, before beating a fist against his chest, as if to drive the point home. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “That’s me.”

“Egg, then. I’m Uncle Jaime. Can you say that? Uncle Jaime.” Jaime knelt down beside Egg, who looked rather bemused by the lengths his uncle was going to to appear relatable. Another piece of Tyrion in their nephew. It was almost as if Cersei hadn’t been involved in the making of him at all, that Aegon was Rhaegar and Tyrion’s. It probably haunted her every day.

“Uncle Jaime.” He repeated obediently, looking about the room as if cataloguing every object. His little feet tapped away at the floor as his eyes feasted upon the finery pausing occasionally to glance toward the door as if expecting his mother to come rushing in to scold him at any moment. “Where’s mumma?”

“I don’t know.” Jaime frowned exaggeratedly, which seemed to earn Egg’s loyalty. “Shall we go find her?”

“Yes!” Egg clapped his hands. “Please!” The last word came out so mangled that Jaime only assumed that was what his nephew meant. “Up?”

Jaime stared at him, confused, until Egg hopped up and down, as much as he was able, and Jaime finally realized he meant for Jaime to carry him. He picked the boy up, settling him on his hip, and braced Egg’s back with his stronger arm. It left his right hand to open doors, which wasn’t very reliable, but in the worst case, he could at least knock passably enough to rouse Cersei from wherever she was hiding.

“Tank you.” Egg said cheerfully, before laying a wet, snotty kiss on Jaime’s cheek. He lay his head on Jaime’s shoulder, yawning loudly, and Jaime was suddenly reminded of Tommen, his lazy grace and sweet smile. Perhaps Egg was like the half-brother he’d never meet in that way -- in little kindnesses and similarly soft hearts.

Jaime would have to get him a cat.

“You’re very sweet, Egg.” Jaime tickled him under his chin and Egg preened under the attention. “I’m very happy you came to stay with your Uncle Jaime and Aunt Brienne.”

“And mumma.” Egg cut in, though he looked rather embarrassed at having done so. He rubbed at his nose with his pudgy fingers, the famous pout Cersei had often despaired of settling on his lips. “Mumma’s here.”

“So she is.” Jaime smiled. “Did she tell you we’re twins? We were born at the same time, your mumma and I. We have the same nameday.”

“My nameday is soon.” Egg interjected.

“Will you have a feast for your nameday?” Jaime asked. “I always have a feast for mine. Your Aunt Brienne says it’s very silly, now that I’m a man grown, but sometimes you have to make yourself happy first and let others catch up at their own pace.”

“I’m hungry.” Egg sighed. “I’m very hungry.”

“We’ll see if we can’t find you some food, then.” Jaime pinched his cheek, prompting a string of giggles from Egg, like colored handkerchiefs pulled from a magician’s pocket, each one different from the last. “It won’t be a proper feast, but it’ll do for now.”

“Tank you, Uncle Jaime.” Egg said primly, planting another kiss on Jaime’s cheek.

If he loved affection so, Cersei must be beyond tired of him. Jaime resolved to give Egg every kiss that he hadn’t earmarked for Brienne to make up the difference.

“Lord Jaime, Aegon. You wouldn’t forget your manners, would you?”

“Mumma!” Egg beamed. “I found Uncle Jaime!” He obviously hadn’t heard a word of his mother’s admonishment, or had ignored it on purpose. “I like him!”

Jaime thought he was half in love with the boy already.

“There’s enough time in the world for titles, Cersei. He’ll be a man grown someday and then he can waste himself on calling everyone by their proper titles.” Jaime bounced Egg in his arms and he squealed in delight. “Let the boy live. He’s hardly a child. There’s no need to treat him like anything else.”

“We didn’t learn our places in the game by living, Jaime.” Her words were clipped, but there were evidently plenty of lessons to be learned from his nephew, as Jaime simply paid her no mind and let her natter on in the background.

“I think we will be good friends, you and I.” He tweaked Egg’s nose. “We have much in common.”

Egg’s smile widened, though both he and Jaime knew for a fact that he’d not understood a single word of what had been said to him.

* * *

“Jaime.” Lord Tywin said gravely. “Walk with me, please.”

Jaime nodded slowly, allowing his father to pull him sharply around the corner like a child being admonished for his behavior.

“Does Ser Arthur Dayne live?” Jaime asked.

“He returned to King’s Landing some time ago, the only survivor of the raid that freed Lyanna Stark.” Tywin’s eyes were dark and his expression truly unsympathetic, as if he wished Arthur had died in Dorne with his brothers in arms. “He is a great friend to your nephew, of course, as much as one can be friendly with a small child.”

Jaime heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. I am glad to hear it. On both counts.”

“He fills Aegon’s head with fairy tales just as he did yours.” Tywin grumbled. “I want no part of it.”

“I want no part of many things, yet I do them for the good of our realm.”

“Come with me.” Tywin said, whipping about toward Jaime like a sword cutting through the air. “When I lead the army upon King’s Landing.” He looked around himself, like he was worried they might be overheard, then leaned closer to Jaime. “I need an able commander at my side, even if you cannot fight.”

“One of us should remain at the Rock. Especially with Aegon and Cersei here. There is no telling what Robert Baratheon would do to them if he knew they were unguarded.” Jaime said. “I won’t go with you, but you will have all the help I can give.”

“What help can you give me?”

“Send a single rider ahead to the gate, before the army comes. In the clothes of a peasant. Tell him to say the words little bird in conversation, in a pointed enough way. They will take him in. Once he reaches the Spider, he can tell the truth freely, and the Spider will let the army in, when the time comes.”

“You have been in correspondence with the Spider.” Tywin’s voice was as lifeless as the deserts of Dorne. “I knew you had spoken to him at Harrenhal, but he will poison your mind if you speak to him so often. He is a conniving, dangerous man.”

“Interesting that you should say so, of all people.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Tywin’s eyes narrowed.

“Nothing at all, father dearest.” Jaime said. “Only that you are a man of great ambition and so is the Spider.” He pulled a letter out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “Please do have this sent to Ser Arthur Dayne, perhaps by the same man who you send ahead to the Spider.” He had left it unsealed, and just as he expected, his father opened it immediately, frowning at the words Jaime had written.

“Do what is right even if it is not honorable. Half a million lives are worth more than one.” Tywin fixed Jaime with a searching stare. “Whatever does that mean?”

“It means more than enough to Ser Arthur.” Jaime bowed grandly. “And you will understand it in time, should he heed my words.”

* * *

“Come along, Egg.” Jaime said grandly, as if Egg weren’t holding his hand so tightly that even a typhoon would fail to separate them. He toddled along beside Jaime with uncommon determination, his little pink tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his delicate features wrenched into a little scowl. “We’re off to see Aunt Brienne. Now what is Aunt Brienne, sweetling?”

“A knight!” Egg crowed.

“And what title do we use for knights?”

“I don’t know.” Egg shrugged, looking rather satisfied with himself, as they rounded the corner to the training area.

Brienne was hacking away at a straw dummy that seemed to disintegrate before her, sun flashing blindingly off of the live steel in her hands as sweat poured into her eyes.

“I see a sword!” Egg declared, nearly falling forward in his enthusiasm to point to it. “Uncle Jaime!”

“It is a sword, Egg, very good.” Jaime patted Egg on the back. “What else does Aunt Brienne have?”

“Nose!” Egg said.

“We all have noses, yes.” Jaime nodded solemnly. “What else?”

“Eyes!” Egg grinned, recognizing the opportunity for humor. “Aunt Brienne has big eyes.”

“Thank you.” Brienne paused to swipe her hair off her forehead. “I like them very much.”

“As do I.” Jaime piped up, earning a grimace from Brienne, who set upon the dummy with renewed enthusiasm, as if Jaime’s words had set her blood afire. “Do you want to be a knight, Egg?”

“No.” Egg shook his head so violently that he fell over. “I don’t like knives. Scary scary.”

“You don’t?” Brienne asked, disappointed.

Egg had caught sight of an ant on the floor and was scuttling along beside it like a crab, trying to figure out where it was headed. He seemed mesmerized by it. Perhaps they had a little maester on their hands. Jaime couldn’t imagine a Targaryen being safe in the Citadel, but if Aemon Targaryen had earned his chains before taking the black, there was no reason Egg couldn’t either, provided Robert didn’t have the Hightowers of Oldtown kill him on sight.

“What’s that?” Egg asked, crouching down beside a puddle of water. He underestimated his own capacity for balance and tumbled face first into the dirt with a splash. He would need a bath before his mother saw him next. “Uncle Jaime! What’s that?”

“I can’t see it, Egg.” Jaime yawned. “I’ve no idea.”

Egg reached down to scoop the object of his attentions up in his hands and Jaime yelped.

“No, no, don’t!” He jogged over to Egg, who had frozen like a Northern winter at his words. “Well, let’s see, then.” Egg clung to Jaime instead, eyes welling up with tears, and Jaime remembered belatedly that, having spent all his life with Cersei as a mother, Egg likely didn’t handle raised voices well. “Oh, it’s nothing, I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” He kissed every one of Egg’s grimy fingertips to prove his point, and his tears forgotten, Egg nodded happily. “What is it, then? Show me again.”

Egg pointed to a hardy little weed that had pushed itself through the cracks between cobblestones. “What’s that?” He asked, voice still wobbly. “What’s that, Uncle Jaime?”

“It’s a weed.” Jaime said. “A little baby plant.” He tickled Egg’s tummy, normally an easy route to winning his affections, and got no response. Perhaps the boy just needed some proof that he’d meant well. “It won’t grow big because it’s a bad plant.”

“A bad plant?” Egg asked, sounding rather terrified. He’d obviously never considered that plants could be bad.

“We just don’t want the plant.” Brienne corrected. “It’s not bad.” She placed a gauntleted hand on Egg’s back and he jumped in surprise, whirling about immediately to stare at it, wide eyed. “Oh, haven’t you seen armor before?”

“What’s that?” Egg asked, awestruck. “Gloves?”

“Gauntlets.” Brienne replied.

“That’s boots.” Egg said, pointing to her sabatons. “They’re cold?”

“They’re not cold.” Brienne frowned. “Why would he ask that?”

Egg poked her gauntlet twice. “It’s cold.”

“It’s made of metal, Brienne.” Jaime said softly. “That’s what he’s trying to say.”

Egg murmured something that, if it were said loudly enough, might have sounded something like ‘meddle’.

“I’m so happy.” He said instead. “I smell like dirt.”

“He’s certainly a Lannister.” Brienne snorted. “His uncle’s nephew, through and through.”

“Truly.” Jaime smiled, as Egg clung to his leg. He weakly tried to shake the boy off, much to Egg’s delight. “In the best way.”

* * *

Jaime knelt at the Stranger’s altar, having placed a basket of jumbled things on it.

He had searched in the library for what the Stranger considered an offering, but had settled on some old animal skull from Tyrion’s childhood bedroom, a few fruits and flowers, and one of the many golden hand pins his father kept scattered throughout the house, should he lose his, to remind others of his station. He didn’t know if it would stand in place of the golden hand he had taken with him to the Stranger before this all started, but it was the closest thing he had.

He hoped the Stranger liked it. He hadn’t got much of a sense for their interests beyond dissolving floors and scaring the living daylights out of the temporarily or permanently dead.

“I’ve never seen you in the Sept. Not since our wedding.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Brienne, staring up at the stained glass window depicting the Stranger in front of him.

“And never at this altar.” Jaime said. “But I find myself drawn here now, with my father at war.”

“Not to the Warrior?”

“No.”

“Then why not to the Father? Why here?”

“The Stranger is of death and the unknown. If all we’ve heard is correct, we stand to face plenty of both in the coming days. I thought we might tempt the Stranger with a fruit basket to lessen the blow.” Now that he said it aloud, it sounded ridiculous, but it brought a smile to Brienne’s face. “I don’t know if the Stranger likes fruit or flowers, so I threw in a skull as well.”

“A skull?”

“Well, the Stranger’s always holding one. It must get boring, holding the same skull every day.”

“Mustn’t it.” Brienne knelt beside him and he placed a hand on her raised knee to brace himself. She shuffled closer for it, and they knelt before the Stranger, heads bent together, until nothing seemed quite real anymore, until it seemed as if their prayers had been heard.

* * *

_Dear Sers Jaime and Brienne Lannister,_

_I wanted you to hear it from me first. I killed King Aerys and his pyromancer after letting the Lannister Army in. Lord Varys played a hand in the latter as well, and he told me to tell you that he expects some thanks, perhaps in the form of coin, from your father. He has spread the word about the wildfire, and the people think me a hero. So much so that they will not let Robert try me for regicide._

_I have been dismissed from the Kingsguard honorably, so I am to return home and assume my seat at Starfall. Ashara will be glad, but I wonder what life as a lord will be, compared to the life of a knight. Perhaps you could advise me._

_Rhaella and the boy Viserys are nowhere to be found. Your father and his men are still searching for them, with no luck. I don’t imagine they want to be found, anyhow. They’d be killed before they could say a word, if Robert knew where they were. Your sister and her children are only safe because of your father’s support of the cause, and only then on the promise that they will not seek the throne._

_I have asked much of you in the past, and will in the future, but for now, I hope Cersei keeps her promise. You have always been fond of children, Jaime, and I should like to stop at the Rock and see the little prince once more before I retire to a quieter life._

_Yours,_  
_ Ser Arthur Dayne_  
_ Lord of Starfall_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for making it through this fic with me! please let me know what you think -- i'm always excited to hear about what people enjoyed about the fic because i love, love, love talking about my writing. hit me up any time to talk about jaime lannister and the redemption arc i've got planned for him, because there's more where this came from -- it's just a matter of when i put it up! 
> 
> make sure to [subscribe to the series if you want updates on when i post things set in this universe](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461547) and [drop me a line on twitter if you wanna talk at length](https://twitter.com/aheartcalldhome)! thank you so much for sticking around!
> 
> -s


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